Anansi Boys

by Neil Gaiman

Songs remain. They last.

A song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams and gone. That’s the power of songs.

Letters were good things, he thought. They could get lost in the post for a start.

‘Well, that’s not exactly true. He’s certainly not a good man. But he did me a power of good last night,’

Rosie long enough to know never to stand between his fiancée and her need to Do Good.

wonder if the people on the beach in his imagination, watching the white fingers of the waves as they wriggled towards the shore, listening to the tropical birds whistling in the palm trees, whether they ever dreamed of being in England,

One way that you know something is a dream is that you are somewhere you have never been in real life. Fat Charlie had never been to California. He had never been to Beverly Hills. He had seen it enough, though, in movies and on television to feel a comfortable thrill of recognition.

It was the kind of sky that makes even the most prosaic person discover a deeply buried urge to start painting in oils.

Impossible things happen. When they do happen, most people just deal with it.

After the damp chill of England, the Florida heat was welcome.