Three Neils a Day and Other Stories

You know a fellow named Neil Gaiman? He writes a bit. On this blog you'll find some evidence of that- excerpts, quotes, bits and fragments from the realm of Dream, pictures of Neil Himself in case you've never seen the man before, and other such oddities. In case you're still not convinced, humor us, follow us for a bit and I reckon we'll be able to persuade you in a day or two. Probably. Also, check out: http://fuckyeahladydeath.tumblr.com

[hoperesideswithinthismess]

[shamesdean]

One can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can color one’s entire day.

Neil Gaiman - Fragile Things (via shamesdean)

[girlzilla-deactivated20121026]

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

girlzilla:

team doctors wife

[foxyjii-chan-blog-deactivated20]

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

edzilla:

Destruction cosplayer at A-kon.

[monkeyswearingpants]

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

Neil Gaiman/Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (via monkeyswearingpants)

[celbelrai-deactivated20190324]

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

navajocarpet:

“You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“Jamie Hyneman is Cthulhu, isn’t he?”

[veiledmoons]

Stories are, in one way or another, mirrors. We use them to explain to ourselves how the world works or how it doesn’t work. Like mirrors, stories prepare us for the day to come. They distract us from the things in the darkness.”

Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman (via k3ttl3s)

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

Fat Charlie was thirsty and his head hurt and his mouth tasted evil and his eyes were too tight in his head and all his teeth twinged and his stomach burned and his back was aching in a way that started around his knees and went up to his forehead and his brains had been removed and replaced with cotton balls and needles and pins which was why it hurt to try and think, and his eyes were not just too tight in his head but they must have rolled out in the night and been reattached with roofing nails; and now he noticed that anything louder than the gentle Brownian motion of air molecules drifting softly past each other was above his pain threshold. Also, he wished he were dead.

Anansi Boys

[harderbetterfastercolbert-deact]

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

Word.

[freaky-midget]

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to write another doctor who so I want everything in there so I want one that’s got scary bits in and I want it funny, and I want it to have exciting chasey bits, and I want it to make you cry, and I want it to make you happy even though you’re crying, and I want it to do things you’ve never done before and if I can I’d like to do a few moments where you go ‘I don’t even, can you do that? Can you do that in Doctor Who? Well, I suppose he just did.’”

Neil Gaiman about writing “The Doctor’s Wife” (via freaky-midget)

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

You're a beautiful person.

You're probably talking about Neil himself (I am not he), in which case I agree, and thank you nonetheless.

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

The only woman I have ever loved was another man's wife...my mother!

Niel Gaiman, American Gods

[likecursingkids]

[howcloseis]

“What we need,’ said Wednesday, suddenly, “is snow. A good, driving, irritating snow. Think ‘snow’ for me, will you?” “Huh?” “Concentrate on making those clouds - the ones over there, in the west - making them bigger and darker. Think gray skies and driving winds coming down from the arctic. Think snow.” “I don’t think it will do any good.” “Nonsense. If nothing else, it will keep your mind occupied,” said Wednesday, unlocking the car. “Kinko’s next. Hurry up.” Snow, thought Shadow, in the passenger seat, sipping his hot chocolate. Huge, dizzying clumps and clusters of snow falling through the air, patches of white against an iron-gray sky, snow that touches your tongue with cold and winter, that kisses your face with its hesitant touch before freezing you to death. Twelve cotton-candy inches of snow, creating a fairy-tale world, making everything unrecognizably beautiful… Wednesday was talking to him. “I’m sorry?” said Shadow. “I said we’re here,” said Wednesday. “You were somewhere else.” “I was thinking about snow,” said Shadow.

Neil Gaiman, American Gods (via howcloseis)

[quotefun]

Few of us now have seen the stars as folk saw them then - our cities and towns cast too much light into the night - but, from the village of Wall, the stars were laid out like worlds or like ideas, uncountable as the trees in a forest or the leaves on a tree. Tristan would stare into the darkness of the sky until he thought of nothing at all, and then he would go back to his bed, and sleep like a dead man.

Stardust by Neil Gaiman (via quotefun)

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

Strange things happen in the oddest places. In London a man came over to me and said, “Please. Let me shake the hand that wrote Sandman.” I shook his hand, but not before warning him that it had done a lot of other things too.

Neil Gaiman, in an interview with Lomography

Submitted by whitecloudsbluesky

[nothingbuttherain]

[threeneilsaday-blog-blog]

nothingbuttherain:

Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.

30 Days of Neil Gaiman Quotes | American Gods