Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

"The really important thing to be was yourself, just as hard as you could."

"Notoriety wasn't as good as fame, but was heaps better than obscurity."

"It has been said that civilization is twenty-four hours and two meals away from barbarism."

"And then he'd tried to become an official Atheist and hadn't got the rock-hard self-satisfied strength of belief even for that."

"Why are we talking about this good and evil? They're just names for sides. We know that."

"I don't see why it matters what is written. Not when it's about people. It can always be crossed out."

"Loyalty was a great thing, but no lieutenants should be forced to choose between their leader and a circus with elephants."

"There was the kind of silence there might have been on the day before Creation. Adam stood smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's arm. "You know what happened" he hissed excitedly. "He was left alone! He grew up human! He's not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he's just...a human incarnate-"

"Note for Americans and other aliens: Milton Keynes is a new city approximately halfway between London and Birmingham. It was built to be modern, efficient, healthy, and, all in all, a pleasant place to live. Many Britons find this amusing."

"The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do."

"He wondered reflectively what would happen if you asked a nun where the Gents was. Probably the Pope sent you a sharp note or something."

"America was, to them, the place that good people went to when they died. They were prepared to believe just about anything could happen in America."

"There are some dogs which, when you meet them, remind you that, despite thousands of years of man-made evolution, every dog is still only two meals away from being a wolf. These dogs advance deliberately, purposefully, the wilderness made flesh, their teeth yellow, their breath a-stink, while in the distance their owners witter, "He's an old soppy really, just poke him if he's a nuisance," and in the green of their eyes the red campfires of the Pleistocene gleam and flicker."

"Along with the standard computer warranty agreement which said that if the machine 1) didn't work, 2) didn't do what the expensive advertisements said, 3) electrocuted the immediate neighborhood, 4) and in fact failed entirely to be inside the expensive box when you opened it, this was expressly, absolutely, implicitly and in no event the fault or responsibility of the manufacturer, that the purchaser should consider himself lucky to be allowed to give his money to the manufacturer, and that any attempt to treat what had just been paid for as the purchaser's own property would result in the attentions of serious men with menacing briefcases and very thin watches. Crowley had been extremely impressed with the warranties offered by the computer industry, and had in fact sent a bundle Below to the department that drew up the Immortal Soul agreements, with a yellow memo form attached just saying: 'Learn, guys..."

"He couldn’t see why people made such a fuss about people eating their silly old fruit anyway, but life would be a lot less fun if they didn’t. And there was never an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it."

"Hell may have all the best composers, but heaven has all the best choreographers."

"Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking towards Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty To Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You've Given Them A Good Thumping but secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People travelled with them."

"I mean, d'you know what eternity is? There's this big mountain, see, a mile high, at the end of the universe, and once every thousand years there's this little bird-"What little bird" said Aziraphale suspiciously."This little bird I'm talking about. And every thousand years-"The same bird every thousand years"Crowley hesitated. "Yeah," he said."Bloody ancient bird, then."Okay. And every thousand years this bird flies-"-limps-"-flies all the way to this mountain and sharpens its beak-"Hold on. You can't do that. Between here and the end of the universe there's loads of-" The angel waved a hand expansively, if a little unsteadily. "Loads of buggerall, dear boy."But it gets there anyway," Crowley persevered."How"It doesn't matter!"It could use a space ship," said the angel. Crowley subsided a bit. "Yeah," he said. "If you like. Anyway, this bird-"Only it is the end of the universe we're talking about," said Aziraphale. "So it'd have to be one of those space ships where your descendants are the ones who get out at the other end. You have to tell your descendants, you say, When you get to the Mountain, you've got to-" He hesitated. "What havethey got to do"Sharpen its beak on the mountain," said Crowley. "And then it flies back-"-in the space ship-"And after a thousand years it goes and does it all again," said Crowley quickly. There was a moment of drunken silence."Seems a lot of effort just to sharpen a beak," mused Aziraphale."Listen," said Crowley urgently, "the point is that when the bird has worn the mountain down to nothing, right, then-"Aziraphale opened his mouth. Crowley just knew he was going to make some point about the relative hardness of birds' beaks and granite mountains, and plunged on quickly."-then you still won't have finished watching The Sound of Music."Aziraphale froze."And you'll enjoy it," Crowley said relentlessly. "You really will."My dear boy-"You won't have a choice."Listen-"Heaven has no taste."Now-"And not one single sushi restaurant."A look of pain crossed the angel's suddenly very serious face."

"He had heard about talking to plants in the early seventies, on Radio Four, and thought it was an excellent idea. Although talking is perhaps the wrong word for what Crowley did. What he did was put the fear of God into them. More precisely, the fear of Crowley. In addition to which, every couple of months Crowley would pick out a plant that was growing too slowly, or succumbing to leaf-wilt or browning, or just didn't look quite as good as the others, and he would carry it around to all the other plants. "Say goodbye to your friend," he'd say to them. "He just couldn't cut it. . . " Then he would leave the flat with the offending plant, and return an hour or so later with a large, empty flower pot, which he would leave somewhere conspicuously around the flat. The plants were the most luxurious, verdant, and beautiful in London. Also the most terrified."

"You're Hell's Angels, then? What chapter are you from''REVELATIONS. CHAPTER SIX."