“Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" she gritted. "The kitchen? The sewers? The fires of hell?”

“Creepy as hell. You ever see that TV movie about the clown in the sewer?”

“I don't know about you, but I only have one life, and I don't want to spend it in a sewer of injustice.”

“But she's wrong about hell. You don't have to wait until you're dead to get there.”

“She frowned at me. "You need some rest. You look like hell. And you're obviously tired enough to have gotten the giggles."

Wizards don't giggle," I said, hardly able to speak. "This is cackling.”

“You want me to go into a sewer, Mister Sharpe?' Sarah asked in a small voice.
'No, miss, I don't', Sharpe said. 'I want you to be in green fields and happy, with enough money to last you the rest of your life. But to get you there I have to go through a sewer.”

“She said, "Do you have more things that you need, or more that you don't need?" I said, "It depends on what it means to need.”

“You have to stay in shape. My grandmother, she started walking five miles a day when she was 60. She's 97 today and we don't know where the hell she is.”

“Like when you sit in front of a fire in winter — you are just there in front of the fire. You don't have to be smart or anything. The fire warms you.”

“So this is hell. I'd never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is—other people!”