Nicole

“Who the hell is Warren Ellis again?”
Hardison gaped at the man. “Only one of the greatest comics writers in the past twenty years. Might as well ask who Alan Moore is, or Frank Miller, or Mark Waid, or Brian Michael Bendis, or Marv Wolfman, or Geoff Johns.”

Eliot gave Hardison a blank look as they wove their way through the hall. Parker took the lead, toting a printed sign with her. Eliot and Hardison trailed in her wake. They made a point of striding right past Patronus’s booth. They didn’t turn to see if he noticed them.

“No one?” Hardison said. “Nothing? Not even Kurt Busiek? Neil Gaiman?”

“I have a life. I do things, active things. I date women.”
“Stan Lee?”

Eliot gave Hardison that one with a wag of his head. “Who hasn’t heard of Stan Lee?”

“All right,” Hardison said with satisfaction. “You had me worried there, man.”
― Matt Forbeck, The Con Job

“It's like the people who believe they'll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn't work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

“If someone tells you what a story is about, they are probably right.
If they tell you that that is all a story is about, they are very definitely wrong.”
― Neil Gaiman

“A hundred words to talk of death?
At once too much and not enough.
My plans beyond that final breath
are currently a little rough.
The dying thing comes on so slow:
reluctance to get out of bed
is magnified each day
and so transmuted into dead.
I dream of dying all alone,
nobody there to watch me pass
nothing remains for me to own,
no breath remains to fog the glass.
And when I do put down my pen
my memories will fly like birds.
When I am done, when I am dead,
And Finished with my hundred words.”
― Neil Gaiman