...don't ask me why I know what an Edwardian smoking jacket looks like: let's just say it has something to do with Doctor Who and leave it at that.
Despite what you think you know, most people don't want to fight, especially when evenly matched. … That's why you see those young men doing the dance of "don't hold me back" while desperately hoping someone likes them enough to hold them back.
It's important for a man to know his limitations, and my limitations started at moving to Peckham and hanging around with yardies, postcode wannabes and those weird, skinny white kids who don't get the irony in Eminem.
I looked into the literature on this," said Nightingale, "and it wasn't very helpful." "There's a literature about this?" "You'd be amazed, Constable, about what there's a literature on.
Can you sacrifice people?' I asked. 'Take their magic that way?' 'Yes,' he said. 'But there's a catch.' 'What's the catch?' 'You get hunted down even unto the ends of the Earth and summarily executed.
I did feel a 'something', like a catch in the silence at the moment of creation.
Fuck me, I thought. I can do magic.
This I know for a fact: the reason African women have children is so that there's someone else to do the housework.
On the plus side, there were no rioters in sight but on the minus side this was probably because everywhere I looked was on fire.
Could it have been anyone, or was it destiny? When I'm considering this I find it helpful to quote the wisdom of my father, who once told me, "Who knows why the fuck anything happens?
As I stepped onto the gloomy landing a word formed in my mind: two syllables, starts with a V and rhymes with dire. I froze in place. Nightingale said that everything was true, after a fashion, and that had to include vampires, didn’t it? I doubted...
