The Arrival

Good Omens 2. Chapter 1

Crowley: Okay, here goes. Let there be matter, let there be gravity, let there be everything from pages... 11 to 3,000,602 inclusive.....
Aziraphale: Is something meant to happen?
Crowley: Oh, right, sorry, yes, yes. I knew I'd missed one. Let there be light!

Aziraphale: Oh. You made it all yourself?
Crowley: Ah, well, I mean, more or less. I wasn't... I wasn't, um... I wasn't the original concept designer, but I worked very closely with upstairs on it.

Aziraphale: So, what's it for?
Crowley: How do you mean?
Aziraphale: Well, what exactly does it all do?
Crowley: Oh, right. Well, what doesn't this beauty do? Basically, it's a star factory. All the dust and gas you can see, it's actually building about 5,000 young stars and protoplanets. Most of the universe of stars will come pre-aged, but these ones are only starting out. A few million years to bake... and then boom, stars everywhere!
Aziraphale: Oh, that's nice.

Aziraphale: You know, the current word from upstairs is that we'll be shutting this all down again in about 6,000 years.
Crowley: But that's nothing! Oh. What's the point in creating an infinite universe with trillions of star systems if you're only gonna let it run for a few thousand years? The engine won't have properly warmed up by then.

Aziraphale: The impression I get is that the stars and your um...
Crowley: Err, call it a nebula.
Aziraphale: Right. Well, they exist just so that the people can look up into the night sky and marvel at the illimitable vastness of The Almighty's creation.
Crowley: But that's idiocy! It's the universe, it's not just some fancy wallpaper! Millions of galaxies, trillions of stars, oodles of... everything! It's not just put here to twinkle! Most of it won't even be visible from Earth. Why don't you put Earth in the middle of the universe so the view's better?

Crowley: Someone has to say, "Look, boss, this is a really, really terrible idea."
Aziraphale: Well, I suspect that would be considered... inappropriate.
Crowley: Well, I don't suppose anyone could object to me putting a note into the suggestion box...
Aziraphale: I don't believe The Almighty has actually created a suggestion box. And furthermore, I don't think it's our place to start suggesting that there should be a suggestion box.
Crowley: Well, if I was the one running it all, I'd like it if someone asked questions. Fresh point of view. You can't just create a universe, run it for a few thousand years, and then stop!

Aziraphale: ...look, word to the wise, I'd hate to see you getting into any trouble.
Crowley: Mm, thanks for your help. And thanks for your advice. I wouldn't worry though. How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?

Maggie: You can't just forgive me eight months' rent!
Aziraphale: Oh, I can. I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favorite things.

Shax: Was it always this easy?
Crowley: Easy?
Shax: I keep planning complicated strategic strikes to spread misery and panic among the humans, and just as I'm about to put one into motion, they come up with something themselves which is so much worse than anything I could have thought of.
Crowley: Yeah. Always this easy.

Shax: If I learn anything that you might find useful, I'll tell you, and in return, you'll tell me what I need. Got anything for me?
Crowley: Frozen peas.
Shax: What?
Crowley: That's what you feed ducks. Frozen peas. They love them, and it's good for them too.

Gabriel: What...
Aziraphale: What am I doing here?
Gabriel: Yes.
Aziraphale: Well? What are you doing here?
Gabriel: I don't know. That's why I asked.
Aziraphale: You don't know?
Gabriel: No, but I would love to find out. Oh, it would also be great to know where here is, and also who you are, and also who I am.
Aziraphale: And also, why you're naked.
Gabriel: Who told you I was naked?

Aziraphale: Why did you come to my shop?
Gabriel: I don't know. I just thought I should. You know what it's like when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?
Aziraphale: No. Certainly not. I have no idea what that feels like.

Gabriel: James. Long for Jim, short for Gabriel.

Crowley: Basic demon on Earth stuff. Either call on the phone and talk, or appear mysteriously. Don't do both.
Shax: Why not?
Crowley: Trust me.
Shax: Righto.

Crowley: Right, what's the problem?
Aziraphale: Problem? Who said there was a problem?
Crowley: Tone of voice. You have three reasons for calling me: you're bored, you need to tell someone about something clever you did before you pop, or something's wrong. This was your "something's wrong" voice.

Nina: Hello. Can I get you anything?
Crowley: Take a big cup, put six shots of espresso into it, nothing else.
Aziraphale: That sounds fun. Does it calm you down?
Crowley: Not really.
Aziraphale: Nina, what do you sell that calms people down?
Nina: Eccles cakes?

Crowley: He is not our friend.
Aziraphale: I don't think he really has any friends.
Crowley: Exactly.
Aziraphale: Yes, exactly.
Crowley: What does your exactly mean exactly? I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different exactlys.

Crowley: Just breathe, that's what humans do... then they count to ten before they do anything stupid!

Beelzebub: Well, wherever he is, you find Gabriel for me and you can have whatever your nasty little heart desires. You could be a Duke of Hell.

Beelzebub: I'm hearing that anybody they find involved in this affair will be dealt with.
Crowley: How?
Beelzebub: Extreme... sanctions.
Crowley: That isn't actually a thing. That's just something we used to joke about to frighten the cherubs.

Crowley: I'm back.

Crowley: You want a big, "I think I said the wrong thing," sort of apology, or can we take that as said?
Aziraphale: I'd like the apology, actually.

Aziraphale: I want a proper apology.
Crowley: No.
Aziraphale: With the little dance.
Crowley: I don't do the dance.
Aziraphale: I did the "I was wrong" dance in 1650, in 1793, 1941...
Crowley: Fine! You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right. Okay?

--
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In the Beginning

Good Omens 1×1

God: Current theories on the creation of the universe state that if it were created at all and didn't just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being about 14 billion years ago. The Earth is generally supposed to be about 4 1/2 billion years old. These dates are incorrect. Some medieval scholars put the date of the creation at 3760 BC. Others put creation as far back as 5508 BC. Also, incorrect. Archbishop James Ussher claimed that the Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday, the 21st of October, 4004 BC, at 9:00 a.m. This too was incorrect, by almost a quarter of an hour... It was created at 9:13 in the morning. Which was correct. The whole business with the fossilised dinosaur skeletons was a joke the palaeontologists haven't seen yet. This proves two things. Firstly, that God does not play dice with the universe. I play an ineffable game of my own devising. For everyone else, it's like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time. Secondly, the Earth is a Libra.

Crowley: Well, that went down like a lead balloon.
Aziraphale: Sorry, what was that?
Crowley: I said, "Well, that went down like a lead balloon."
Aziraphale: Yes, yes, it did, rather.
Crowley: Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything. I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.
Aziraphale: Well, it must be bad... Otherwise... you wouldn't have tempted them into it.
Crowley: Oh, they just said, "Get up there and make some trouble."
Aziraphale: Well, obviously. You're a demon. It's what you do.
Crowley: Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a "Don't Touch" sign. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God's really planning.

Aziraphale: It's all part of the Great Plan. It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable.
Crowley: The Great Plan's ineffable?
Aziraphale: Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.

Aziraphale: I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing.
Crowley: Oh, you're an angel. I don't think you can do the wrong thing.
Aziraphale: Oh, oh, thank— Oh, thank you. It's been bothering me.
Crowley: I've been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole "eat the apple" business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing. It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.
Aziraphale: No. It wouldn't be funny at all.

God: It wasn't a dark and stormy night. But, don't let the weather fool you. Just because it's a mild night doesn't mean that the forces of evil aren't abroad. They are. They are everywhere.

God: Crowley was all in favor of Armageddon in general terms. But it was one thing to work to bring it about, and quite another for it to actually happen.

God: It may help to understand human affairs to know that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally... people.

---

God: Everyone knows the best place for a clandestine meeting in London is, and always has been, St James's Park. They say the ducks are so used to being fed by secret agents that they've developed Pavlovian reactions to them. The Russian cultural attaché's black bread is particularly sought after by the more discerning duck.

Aziraphale: You're sure it was the Antichrist?
Crowley: I should know. I delivered the baby. Well, not "delivered" delivered, you know? Handed it over. An American diplomat.
Aziraphale: Really?
Crowley: As if Armageddon were a cinematographic show you wished to sell in as many countries as possible. The Earth and all the kingdoms thereof.
Aziraphale: We will win, of course.
Crowley: You really believe that?
Aziraphale: Obviously. Heaven will finally triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely.
Crowley: Out of interest, how many first-class composers do your lot have in Heaven?... Because Mozart's one of ours. Beethoven. Schubert. Uh, all of the Bachs. They have already written their music. And you'll never hear it again. No more Albert Hall. No more Glyndebourne. Just celestial harmonies.
Aziraphale: Well...
Crowley: And that's just the start of what you'll lose if you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No gravlax in dill sauce. No more old bookshops.

Aziraphale: So, what are you in the mood for now?
Crowley: Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

Crowley: And you know what's worse? When it's all over, you've got to deal with eternity!
Aziraphale: Eternity?
Crowley: Yeah, it won't be so bad at first. Although no Stephen Sondheim first nights in eternity, I'm afraid. Although, I have heard rumours that your boss really loves The Sound of Music. You fancy spending eternity watching that? You could literally climb every mountain over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

Crowley: Why did the powers of Hell have to drag me into this anyway?
Aziraphale: Well, don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure it's because of all those memos you kept sending them, saying how amazingly well you were doing.
Crowley: Is it my fault they never check-up? I'm to blame they never check-up? Everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office. You know that.
Aziraphale: Yes, but you told them you invented the Spanish Inquisition and started the Second World War.
Crowley: So the humans beat me to it. That's not my fault.

Crowley: The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He's named it. It's done. He's coming into his power.
Aziraphale: We're doomed.
Crowley: Well, then... welcome to the end times.

--
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Who's da New King of Hell?

Lucifer 4×10

Chloe: Hm, you're in a good mood.
Lucifer: Well, the world will not be destroyed because I forgave myself, so I'd say that's a pretty darn good day for me and all mankind for that matter, so you're welcome.

Chloe: So, um... it's all... totally gone? The red skin, the devil wings. No more flare-ups?
Lucifer: It's not hemorrhoids, detective.

Lucifer: What about a case then? There must be a jolly good murder to solve.

Lucifer: Well, call me if anything pops up. Or falls down, rather.

Amenadiel: Come say hello to Uncle Lucy!

Amenadiel: Recently, I've made a decision about my son. And even though, in my heart I... I believe it's right... I know it's gonna be painful...
Lucifer: Oh, right, that. Well, 79% of American boys are circumcised, so he'll be in the majority if you do, however, it does reduce sensation by about 32.8%, according to Dr. Oz. But just... weigh up the options, Snip it or skip it, I'm sure it'll be dandy.

Linda: Forgiving yourself... it's not as easy as you think. It doesn't happen overnight.

Ella: Nothing's ever been proven, but still, biggest beef since Biggie and Tupac.

Chloe: You should probably head home, Lucifer, because no victim, no case.
Lucifer: Oh, very well. I suppose there'll be another murder tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Lucifer: No way in hell I'd ever return to... well, you know...

Dromos: You've been on vacation forever. You didn't write, you didn't call. You didn't even send a burnt offering. The demons of Hell... they need a king.
Lucifer: Very well. Dromos of the Lilim... by the power of Grayskull, blah-di-blah-di-blah, I hereby name you King of Hell. There you go. Throne's all yours.

---

Dromos: What's so great about Earth, anyway?
Lucifer: Well, no offense, but the company's far greater, the work more interesting and the liquor far superior. Mm!...

Lucifer: So. Back to hell you go, it seems. Those eyeballs won't pop themselves out.

Lucifer: Am I dreaming? No, I can't be, you're both dressed.

Ella: I'm sure there's a totally reasonable explanation for why he's been gone for hours, without answering his phone.

Lucifer: The good news is I think you're right, I think Amenadiel does has the child safe. The bad news is... I think it's my least favorite place... Heaven.

Ella: That's just it. I never used to feel alone. Because I always had the big guy. I really miss Him. I was just so mad. So mad after... you know, Charlotte. .... But I don't think it's right for me to base my faith on whether everything is... good and unicorns and ice cream. I don't think it's God's job to stop the bad. I actually think... He's there to give us the strength to get through it.

Lucifer: Detective, I can't believe I'm saying this, but there are more important things than me right now.

Eve: The Mayan, that's it!
Chloe: Okay, it's a venue. Rents to concerts and also... I think, church groups.
Lucifer: Sex, drugs, rock and roll and my dad. That sounds like the oxymoronic venue we're after.

Chloe: Anything I need to know about how to fight a demon?
Lucifer: Not really. Just that they're super strong, scary and mean. Like Maze. Except these don't feel pain, because they're only renting their bodies.

Lucifer: Dromos! Surely you've heard breast is best.

Dromos: Long live King Charlie. He's going to be a hell of a ruler. Pun intended.

Dromos: Over my dead body. Oh, that's right. It's already dead, so... you're going to have to get creative.

Dromos: This is what I'm talking about. It's so sweet. I'm going to puke.

Dromos: It's amazing how many demon souls you can source from a little church confession.

Lucifer: I have to go back.

--
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Все новые сказки (сборник) — 2

Нил Гейман — Истина - пещера в Черных горах

  “Вы спрашиваете, смогу ли я себя простить? ...

&  – Иногда мне кажется, истина – это просто место. Мне кажется, она как город: к нему тянутся сотни дорог, тысячи троп, которые в конце концов приведут туда же. Не имеет значения, откуда ты. Если идешь к истине, ты достигнешь ее, по какому бы пути ни шел.
     – Ты ошибаешься. Истина – это пещера в Черных горах. Туда один путь, только один, он опасен и тяжел, а если выберешь неверную тропу, – умрешь в одиночестве на склоне.

&  Проклятие возраста – все вокруг становится отражением чего-то другого.

&  – Есть цена?
     – Всегда есть цена.

  ... В мой дом вели сотни дорог и тысячи троп, а в конце меня ждала жена.”

---

Майкл Маршалл Смит — Неверие

  “Это случилось в Брайант-парке вечером, в самом начале седьмого. ...

&  Привычки и ритуалы делают нашу жизнь удобнее и приятнее.

&  В парке было совсем мало посетителей, одни прогуливались, другие сидели за столиком в стремительно сгущающихся сумерках, но это были обычные жители... те, кто пытался немного развеяться, прежде чем привычно нырнуть в метро, тоннели, мосты или аэропорты, те, кто ворует это время у семьи, друзей или партнеров. Захватить еще хотя бы несколько секунд, побыть в одиночестве, выкурить тайком последнюю сигарету, сорвать незаконный поцелуй, покрепче обнять перед расставанием — сделать последний вздох, прежде чем за тобой захлопнется дверь тюремной камеры, называемой реальной жизнью.

&  — Не верить легко, Кейн. А для веры нужны мужество и твердость.

  ... И очень холодно.”

Джо Лэнсдейл — Звезды падают

  “Перед возвращением из мертвых Дил Эрроусмит шел в неверных лучах лунного света в направлении своего дома. ...

&  – А мне нравятся ружья.
     – Ну, что ж, это понятно. Но ружьям не нравишься ты, во всяком случае, они-то тебя не любят. Никогда не отдавай свою любовь, внимание или привязанность тому, что не может ответить тебе взаимностью.

&  Хорошо, когда чего-то можно с нетерпением ждать.

&  – Соболезную по поводу твоих родителей.
     – Ничего. Все мы когда-нибудь умрем. В конце концов, это вопрос времени, а потому нужно тратить его с умом.

&  – Нет ничего бесспорного в мире, правда?
     – Особенно, если ты мышь.

  ... — Нет, Дил, не падают, — но когда он обратил свой взгляд на Дила, тот был уже далеко.”

Все новые сказки (сборник) — 1

Нил Гейман, Эл Саррантонио — Всего четыре слова

  “Однажды мы с Элом Саррантонио разговорились о сборниках. ...

&  Телевидение, кино — все это было неплохо, но происходило с кем-то еще. А книжные истории разыгрывались в моей собственной голове. Я в каком-то смысле сам переносился туда.
     Вот в чем заключается магия литературы: ты берешь слова и выстраиваешь из них миры."

&  Четыре слова, которые хочет услышать любой рассказчик. Слова, которые подтверждают — да, история интересная, и ее будут читать:
     «...А что было потом?»

&  Радость, которую приносит книга, — это радость полета не скованного реальностью воображения.

&  Г. К. Честертон сравнивал произведения фантастики с поездкой в отпуск: самый главный момент — это возвращение, когда ты вдруг словно впервые видишь собственный дом.

  ... Там, на ступеньках, вас ждут...”

---

Джойс Кэрол Оутс — Окаменелости

  “В огромном животе, где «тук-тук-тук» огромного сердца слепо перекачивало жизнь. ...

&  Даже в раннем детстве я сознавал, что бесконечность — колоссальная бездонная пропасть у нас в головах, сквозь которую мы проваливаемся всю жизнь, проваливаемся, безымянные, безликие и безвестные, и со временем в этой пропасти теряется даже любовь наших родителей. Теряется даже любовь наших матерей. И память, начисто.

&  В молодости он всегда считал, что время — течение, которое мчит его вперед, в будущее, а теперь понял: время — прилив, неумолимый, непреклонный, неудержимый: вода доходит уже до щиколоток, уже до колен, уже до бедер, до паха, до пояса, до подбородка и все еще прибывает и прибывает, темная вода полной непостижимости, тащит нас не в будущее, но в бесконечность, которая есть забвение.

  ... Он стоял в одном футе от камина с горой золы в комнате на нижнем этаже старого обитого тесом коттеджа в колониальном стиле, в комнате, забитой мебелью и, видимо, многолетними наслоениями мусора, которые, однако, могли быть и художественными принадлежностями или даже произведениями художника, эксцентричного творца, известного под псевдонимом Э. У.; престарелые братья Уолдмен, напялив на себя по несколько свитеров и курток, вероятно, заснули у камина в доме, где не было других отопительных приборов; вероятно, ночью огонь погас, и братья умерли во сне в период затяжного январского похолодания: брат, в котором опознали Эдгара Уолдмена, восьмидесяти семи лет, обнимал своего брата Эдварда Уолдмена, также восьмидесяти семи лет, сзади, заботливо прижавшись своим телом к искалеченному телу, ласково приникнув лбом к его затылку, две фигуры слились воедино, точно аморфный сгусток органического вещества, обратившийся в камень.”

Джоан Харрис — Пожар на Манхэттене

  “Зовите меня Ловкий. ...

&  Плотоядным хищникам бессмысленно заботиться о гигиене рта.

&  Невеселая картина... В духе тех сказок, где сестрам Золушки отрубают пальцы на ногах, злодеев заклевывают до смерти вороны, и даже Русалочка до конца жизни вынуждена ходить по острым бритвам — в наказание за то, что посмела влюбиться...

  ... Но это будет супершоу!”