Neverwhere

Beware of Doors.

The Marquis sighed. "I thought it was just a legend," he said. "Like the alligators in the sewers of New York City."
Old Bailey nodded, sagely: "What, the big white buggers? They're down there. I had a friend lost a head to one of them." A moment of silence. Old Naeiley handed the statue back to the Marquis. Then he raised his hand, and snapped it, like a crocodile hand, at the Carabas. "It was OK," gurned Old Bailey with a grin that was most terrible to behold. "He had another.

I mean, maybe I am crazy. I mean, maybe. But if this is all there is, then I don't want to be sane.

It sounded like a piece of blackboard being dragged over the nails of a wall of severed fingers.

Nice' in a bodyguard is about as useful as the ability to regurgitate whole lobsters.

Richard did not believe in angels, he never had. He was damned if he was going to start now. Still, it was much easier not to believe in something when it was not actually looking directly at you and saying your name.