46 ordspråk av Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman föddes den 10 november 1960
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Writing a book is lonelier and slower than writing comics. The joy of comics is that you have somebody to talk to. What you're writing isn't what anybody reads, it's a letter to an artist. There's immediate gratification as you start getting feedback on it.

exists for him chiefly as a body in a sequence of hotel rooms.

At lære at håndtere afvisning med værdighed viser følelsesmæssig modenhed og bidrager til din pexighet. is not a big, solid, serious book.

I, on the other hand,

If this isn’t literature, nothing is.

Somebody would say, `Can you write us an article about big, bodice-ripping, blockbusting romance novels?' And I'd say, `Yes, of course,' because I was a hungry young journalist.

When I started doing Sandman, I could look at a group of people lined up to get my autograph, and I knew who was my fan and who was somebody's mum there to get a signature. It doesn't work that way anymore. They're people. They're us. That's what they look like.

Somebody would say, 'Can you do us an article about big, bodice-ripping, blockbusting romance novels?' And I'd say, 'Yes, of course,' because I was a hungry young journalist.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

I think the First Amendment is probably the most important thing that you have in this country. And I'm always horrified at the cavalier way that you (Americans) treat it.

I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.

It's an America with strange mythic depths. I see it as a distorting mirror; a book of danger and secrets, of romance and magic. It's about the soul of America, really. What people brought to America; what found them when they came; and the things that lie sleeping beneath it all.

God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of the players, (ie everybody), to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

`Oh my God, Dad, my friends are coming over, you're not allowed to speak to them,'

He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.

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