Grave Peril

You don't believe that you're doing right, Morty, deep down. You can justify it any way you want, but you don't like what you're doing. If you did, your powers wouldn't have faded like they have.

I sighed, and rubbed at one eyebrow with my thumb. My first rampant instincts were to give her a cup of hot chocolate, put a blanket around her shoulders, tell her everything would be all right and strap my talisman onto her wrist. I tried to rein those in, though. Down, Quixote.

Nipple erection on command - now that's method acting.

The sign on the door reads, simply, HARRY DRESDEN, WIZARD. Just inside the door is a table, covered with pamphlets with titles like: Magic and You, and Why Witches Don't Sink Any Faster Than Anyone Else - a Wizard's Perspective. I wrote most of them. I think it's important for we practitioners of the Art to keep up a good public image. Anything to avoid another Inquisition.

Row upon row of little glass cribs on wheeled stands stood in the room. Tiny occupants, with toy-sized hospital mittens over their brand-new fingernails, and tiny hospital stocking caps over their bald heads, were sleeping and dreaming infant dreams.

The ghost did not appear to have noticed me - ghost aren't terribly observant. I guess being dead gives you a whole different perspective on life.

Зло черпает силы из страха.

"Люблю тебя". Всего-то два слова ничего трудного, но они застревали у меня в горле. Я никогда ещё не говорил их тем, кого не теряю и всякий раз, когда я пытаюсь произнести их, они застревают где-то на полпути.

Магия определяет человека. Она истекает из самых глубин его души. Вы ничего не добьетесь магией, которой нет у вас в душе.