Coraline

by Neil Gaiman

“You know, Caroline,” she said, after a while, “you are in terrible danger.”

“Cats don’t have names,” it said. “No?” said Coraline. “No,” said the cat. “Now, you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.”

“It wasn’t brave because he wasn’t scared: it was the only thing he could do. But going back again to get his glasses, when he knew the wasps were there, when he was really scared. That was brave.”

It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.

“Small world,” said Coraline. “It’s big enough for her,” said the cat. “Spiders’ webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” asked Coraline. “I swear it,” said the other mother. “I swear it on my own mother’s grave.” “Does she have a grave?” asked Coraline. “Oh yes,” said the other mother. “I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.”

as if it were not really a house but only the idea of a house—and the person who had had the idea, she was certain, was not a good person.