Daniel Craig Quotes

At a distance, they looked just boring enough to be important.

The original games were gladiatorial fights to the death. We had to revise that after a few years because, well, people stopped signing up.

If the world is full of monsters, someone has to be keeping us safe. Someone has to be fighting for us out there.

I wondered, for a brief instant, what a necromancer like Damien Ecko could do with the skeleton of a T. rex. I shrugged the idea off. Nobody’s that good.

I love working with fanatics. You just wind them up, and off they go.

Mob mentality is like wildfire. It spreads fast and hard, and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by really smart people making really bad decisions.

It’s never good to owe money to a guy with a cellar full of military hardware. Especially not when he rides with an outlaw biker gang.

I have rejected religion and society. What is left for me?

I’ve always felt that the mark of a man is his willingness to fight for his principles. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. It doesn’t matter if you ever had a chance to win in the first place. Even if the deck is rigged and the game’s against you, you keep fighting until the bitter end.

Can you please stop talking so I can go back to enjoying Daniel Craig’s outrageously good body?” “That’s so gay,” JP said. “I’m a girl,” said the Duke. “It’s not gay for me to be attracted to men. Now, if I said you had a hot body, that would be gay, because you’re built like a lady.” “Oh, burn,” I said.

In a week marred by death and pain, I’d found a single red rose growing in the ruins. I’d take the thorns as they came.

You have to excuse the girls,” Nicky said. “They’re a little, uh—” “Sociopathic?” I offered. “I was gonna say high-spirited, but sure, that works too.

You don’t rut with a pride demon; you hold up a mirror for him to stare into while he pleasures himself. I’m only slightly exaggerating.

They were the gangster version of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

I realize you’re a politician, so this is a new concept for you. ‘Cooperating’ means actually doing what you’re supposed to, not just saying you will and then weaseling out.

When you fight, though, that badge means you’ve gotta keep your gloves on. I don’t. I use brass knuckles.

Now bottle your hatred and store it in your heart’s pantry for a thirstier day.

Why, play we, these games of mere men?

But it’s not about violence; it’s about doing what you can, whenever you can, to stand up for what you believe. You fight and you never, ever give up. That’s what makes a man.

Daniel Craig is sitting on a carrot, Jude Law is sitting on Daniel Craig's head.

Bond is now the Bond Girl of the opening credits. It’s his silhouette we see – and nary a dancing naked babe in sight. Perhaps to compensate for this, in the actual film he gets his tits out a lot. He emerges from the sea glistening, showing off his pumped boobs, like Ursula Andress in ‘Dr No’ — save his nipples are more prominent. Bond has finally become his own Bond Girl.

Freedom. You humans do love to prattle on about freedom, and you barely understand the word. How much agency do you think you actually have? From the cradle to the grave, you’re bombarded with media, advertising, cultural and social pressure to conform…it’s amazing you can think at all.

And Laurie looks exactly the same, but I’m kind of hazy, and my brain wants to substitute Daniel Craig, and what the fuck kind of fantasy is this, where I’m played—in my own head—by somebody else?

She had personal details about my relationships that only my close friends should have known. “So you’ve got a stalker,” I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror. “And she eats people. Great.

There is no magic weight, no magic size, no magic number on the scale where, as soon as you hit it, confetti rains down and a band starts to play and hidden doors slide open and Daniel Craig walks through them to lift you in his arms (because, thin as you are, he totally can) and carry you into the life of uninterrupted bliss that you just know could be yours, if you only wore a size two dress.

Can you please stop talking so I can go back to enjoying Daniel Craig’s outrageously good body?” “That’s so gay,” JP said. “I’m a girl,” said the Duke. “It’s not gay for me to be attracted to men. Now, if I said you had a hot body, that would be gay, because you’re built like a lady.” “Oh, burn,” I said. The Duke raised her eyes at me and said, “Although JP’s a freaking paragon of masculinity compared to you.” I had no response to that. “Keun is at work,” I said. “He gets paid double on Christmas Eve.” “Oh, right,” said JP. “I forgot that Waffle Houses are like Lindsay Lohan’s legs: always open.

According to Caitlin, he’d been on the throne since Hannibal discovered elephants, and he was so slippery he would orchestrate assassination plots against himself when he got bored, just to keep his wits sharp.

Can’t you get flowers from the evil flower shop?” “Yes,” I whispered, “but then they’d be evil flowers. C’mon, Bentley, try to keep up.” “You know that charming tic, Daniel, where you start making jokes in a dangerous situation, and we all pretend we don’t know you’re doing it in order to cover up how nervous you are?” “What about it?” I asked. “I was just asking if you were aware of it.” “Nope,” I said.

Look at this writing. Can you read? What does it say?” “Happy…graduation, sir?” “It was for a funeral! Happy graduation? What’s he graduated to? Worm food?

I could imagine I was on a college campus, if it weren’t for the fences, the gun towers, and the razor wire.

And, uh, could I borrow somebody’s car? Mine’s impounded and I can’t reclaim it because I’m kinda legally dead right now.

magic was the cheat codes for the universe.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he hissed as his fingernails lengthened into claws. “If you insist,” I said. Then I shot him in the face.

Sounds ominous,” I said. “Do you get a cool code name, too?” “No, but I have handcuffs—” “Kinky.” “—and a gun.” I shook my head. “There you go, ruining the mental image.

Agent Black wanted to put Lauren Carmichael in a ten-by-ten prison cell. I had a better idea: a hole out in the desert, three feet wide and six feet deep.

I’d never broken into a cemetery before. There’s a first time for everything.

Hope for the best, plan for the worst,

My guys saw you on Fremont last week, Dan. You know what they saw you doing?” “Their mothers?” I replied. “Funny,” he said and turned back to Juliette.

Oh, hey,” I said. “Looks like the whole Vegas Metro SWAT division is here. Plus the FBI, Homeland Security, and probably the IRS for good measure.

Well hello,” Caitlin said, eyeing the shepherd. “The last time I saw you, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. Because I ripped it out and put it there.

Of course, the best lies are always wrapped in verifiable truth. It makes the filling easier to swallow.

it’s about doing what you can, whenever you can, to stand up for what you believe. You fight and you never, ever give up. That’s what makes a man.

I knew a junkie when I saw one, and this guy was a long-term member of the heroin weight-loss program.

Daniel 12:3 "...and those who turn the many to righteousness will shine the stars forever.

Good. I need to arm up. All I’ve got is a gun with four bullets, and it’s a really embarrassing gun.

You see,” she said, “maybe you are stronger than me. But it doesn’t matter, and I’ll tell you why: because I’ve always been smarter than you.

Scott and Terry created a political theatre in which a Hanovarian English monarch could appear on the stage of Edinburgh to act the part of a Stuart king.

I’m looking for a damsel in distress,” she said. “Seen any around?” I wriggled my fingers. “Right here.

Alchemist’s…clay? What is that?” “It’s a special kind of clay,” I said. “And it won’t set off the metal detectors?” I stared at him through the slot. “No,” I said. “Because it’s clay.

Spend enough time living on the wrong side of the law, magic powers or not, you grow a sixth sense for when things are about to go sideways. Think of it as Darwinism for criminals. You learn when to walk away, you stay in the game for another night. You don’t, well…the prisons are filled with guys who didn’t spot a setup until they were being hauled off in handcuffs.

You can’t take a life—good or bad, whether they’ve got it coming or not—you can’t take a life without burning out a little of the light in your heart. And you’ve only got so much light.

A happier occasion was in 2012 when the Queen agreed to take part in a spoof film for the opening ceremony of the London Olympic Games. She was seen walking along a corridor in Buckingham Palace accompanied by the actor Daniel Craig, aka James Bond. Also in the video were Her Majesty’s favourite corgi and ‘Big Paul’ Whybrew in his dark uniform complete with decorations.

You forgot your line, by the way.” “What line?” Meadow demanded. “When you rant about your master plan for world domination, you’re supposed to end with ‘but it’s too bad you won’t live to see it.’ I mean, if you’re gonna act like an asshole pulp villain, at least show some commitment to the part.” Her hands curled at her sides. “Funny. You won’t be laughing when—” I leveled the shotgun and blew her head off.

The world is full of good men who make bad decisions,” I told her. “Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. You just have to figure things out the best you can. Make the best choices you can. Choices you can live with.

Pix?” I said. “Pretend for a second that I’m not a hacker.” “I’m a jobber in a tag-team cage match against John Cena and The Rock. My partner just got laid out cold with a folding chair, and the referee is looking the other way.

Do you have the soul? Where is it now?” she asked, a little too urgently for my liking. “Stashed someplace safe,” I told her. That someplace was the trunk of my car parked out in the driveway, but I didn’t feel like sharing that much.

The key to walking around places where you’re not supposed to be is to look like you’re too important to be interrupted. Most people are non-confrontational by nature, and if you give them a good reason not to challenge you, they won’t. I

Why are they trying to kill me?” he squealed, cupping his hands over his head. “They’re not,” I told him. “They’re trying to kill me. So stay close.” “They’re trying to kill you, so I should stay close?” He gaped at me. “That’s terrible advice.

Everyone,” Caitlin said, cradling her wine glass, “is the hero of his own story. That goes double for fanatics. Some of the greatest horrors in history were perpetrated by people who insisted, all the way to damnation’s door, that they fought on the side of the angels.

Nobody answered. I put my thumb on the hammer of my gun and cocked it back. A meaningless gesture on most modern pistols, but thanks to Hollywood it got the point across. “I’ve got four hostages here, and I only need one. If I don’t have an answer in five seconds, we start making staff cuts.

Seems to me you’ve got two choices: one, you can get in a gunfight with the United States government—because that always ends well—or you can run downstairs, get as many of your boys out through the emergency exits as you can, and order the rest to surrender. Your call, but bail money’s a lot cheaper than a tombstone.

It didn’t make much sense to me; as far as I was concerned, sex was one of the four essential food groups along with alcohol, red meat, and whatever the fourth one was. Coffee, probably. But that’s the thing about your friends: you don’t always have to understand them, you just have to respect them and love them for who they are.

It’s you, Pix. You and everybody like you. Everybody who reaches out a hand when they don’t have to. Everybody who helps somebody get up on their feet, or gets in the way of a fist so somebody weaker doesn’t have to take the pain. Everybody who stands up in the face of evil and says ‘no more.’ Everybody who does what they can to make this shithole of a planet a little less miserable for everybody else. You are who’s fighting for us.

There’s no council of wizened wizards overseeing the world of magic, no hidden academies where bright-eyed and precocious youths learn the secrets of the unknown. What we do have is a collective desire, as a community, to keep anyone from fucking up our action. One of the first things any fledgling sorcerer is taught? Keep your mouth shut about magic, or someone will shut it for you, probably with a bullet or a corrective curb-stomping. Now

There are two answers to evil,” she said. “The first is to justify it. The evil that you do is for a good cause, you’ll be validated in the end, it needed to be done, etcetera, etcetera. Of course, once you start walking that road, it’s all downhill. I’m sure this Tony person didn’t start by drowning children. You have to work your way up to that kind of atrocity.” “And the second answer?” “You own it. Be truthful and accept your own nature.

Most confidence games depend on the mark not knowing they’re being conned. The Kansas City Shuffle depends on the mark knowing it. Not only do they have to see you coming, they have to figure out your entire plan before it happens.” “Problem being,” Corman said, “they’re working to stop the wrong con. You get ’em looking left, while you rob ’em blind on the right.” “We can’t take the coin out of the building,” I said, “but Royce can. So let’s give him a reason to do it.

She pointed at our hands. “Are you two rutting?” “That is so gross.” Justine stood next to her with her mouth agape. “You are so gross.” “No,” Caitlin said, grinning. “We’re holding hands. What I did with your father, that was rutting.” Justine made a strangled squeaking noise, like a cat had lodged in her throat and was trying to kick its way out. Juliette stammered incoherently as she dragged her sister away by the arm. I let go of Caitlin’s hand just long enough to hold up my open palm. “High-five me.” She slapped her palm against mine. We settled into a comfortable silence. “You didn’t actually—” I eventually asked, and Caitlin arched an eyebrow. “They’ll always wonder,” she said. “I do hope you’re not the jealous type, Daniel. I am a succubus. If you want me to list my lovers, we’re going to be here a while.” I shook my head. “Not even a little bit.” “Good. But for the record? Never. You don’t rut with a pride demon; you hold up a mirror for him to stare into while he pleasures himself. I’m only slightly exaggerating.

I explained Crime 101 to the kid. “Guns escalate things. They’re only good for crowd control. We’re going in after closing hours, so we don’t need crowd control.” “Yeah,” Augie said, “but what about security? What if they start bustin’ caps?” Bustin’ caps. I wondered how many hip-hop posters he had on his bedroom wall. “Site’s handled by Gold Star Security Northwest,” I explained. “They don’t carry guns, just Tasers and pepper spray. They also make thirteen bucks an hour, and heroics are highly discouraged in their training manual. Their standing orders in case of a burglary are to retreat to safe ground and call the real cops. That gives us plenty of time to bug out if we get spotted and blow it.” “Cool,” Augie said.

Finally, he looked sideways at Vaughn. “So. I guess this is probably a good time to mention that Isabelle is pregnant.” That got a small chuckle out of Vaughn. “I kind of figured that already. I’ve had my suspicions for a few weeks.” Simon nodded. “Isabelle wondered if you knew.” “You could’ve told me, Simon,” Vaughn said, not unkindly. “I get why you might not want Mom to know yet, but why not talk to me about it?” Simon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I guess I didn’t think you’d understand.” “I wouldn’t understand that you want to marry the woman who’s pregnant with your child? I think that’s a concept I can grasp.” “See, that’s just it.” Simon gestured emphatically. “I knew that’s how you would see it. That I’m marrying Isabelle because I got her pregnant. And I don’t want you, or Mom, or anyone else to think about Isabelle that way—that she’s the woman I had to marry, because it was the right thing to do. Because the truth is, I knew I wanted to marry Isabelle on our second date. She invited me up to her apartment that night, and I saw that she had the entire James Bond collection on Blu-ray. Naturally, being the Bond aficionado that I am, I threw out a little test question for her: ‘Who’s the best Bond?’” Vaughn scoffed. “Like there’s more than one possible answer to that.” “Exactly. Sean Connery’s a no-brainer, right? But get this—she says Daniel Craig.” Simon caught Vaughn’s horrified expression. “I know, right? So I’m thinking the date is over because clearly she’s either crazy or has seriously questionable taste, but then she starts going on and on about how Casino Royale is the first movie where Bond is touchable and human, and then we get into this big debate that lasts for nearly an hour. And as I’m sitting there on her couch, I keep thinking that I don’t know a single other person who would relentlessly argue, for an hour, that Daniel Craig is a better Bond than Sean Connery. She pulled out the DVDs and showed me movie clips and everything.” He smiled, as if remembering the moment. “And somewhere in there, it hit me. I thought to myself, I’m going to marry this woman.

Thomas (his middle name) is a fifth-grader at the highly competitive P.S. 334, the Anderson School on West 84th in New York City. Slim as they get, Thomas recently had his long sandy-blond hair cut short to look like the new James Bond (he took a photo of Daniel Craig to the barber). Unlike Bond, he prefers a uniform of cargo pants and a T-shirt emblazoned with a photo of one of his heroes: Frank Zappa. Thomas hangs out with five friends from the Anderson School. They are “the smart kids.” Thomas is one of them, and he likes belonging. Since Thomas could walk, he has constantly heard that he’s smart. Not just from his parents but from any adult who has come in contact with this precocious child. When he applied to Anderson for kindergarten, his intelligence was statistically confirmed. The school is reserved for the top 1 percent of all applicants, and an IQ test is required. Thomas didn’t just score in the top 1 percent. He scored in the top 1 percent of the top 1 percent. But as Thomas has progressed through school, this self-awareness that he’s smart hasn’t always translated into fearless confidence when attacking his schoolwork. In fact, Thomas’s father noticed just the opposite. “Thomas didn’t want to try things he wouldn’t be successful at,” his father says. “Some things came very quickly to him, but when they didn’t, he gave up almost immediately, concluding, ‘I’m not good at this.’ ” With no more than a glance, Thomas was dividing the world into two—things he was naturally good at and things he wasn’t. For instance, in the early grades, Thomas wasn’t very good at spelling, so he simply demurred from spelling out loud. When Thomas took his first look at fractions, he balked. The biggest hurdle came in third grade. He was supposed to learn cursive penmanship, but he wouldn’t even try for weeks. By then, his teacher was demanding homework be completed in cursive. Rather than play catch-up on his penmanship, Thomas refused outright. Thomas’s father tried to reason with him. “Look, just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you don’t have to put out some effort.” (Eventually, Thomas mastered cursive, but not without a lot of cajoling from his father.) Why does this child, who is measurably at the very top of the charts, lack confidence about his ability to tackle routine school challenges? Thomas is not alone. For a few decades, it’s been noted that a large percentage of all gifted students (those who score in the top 10 percent on aptitude tests) severely underestimate their own abilities. Those afflicted with this lack of perceived competence adopt lower standards for success and expect less of themselves. They underrate the importance of effort, and they overrate how much help they need from a parent.

The fingers of the desert sun stabbed around the edges of my curtains, shaking hands with my hangover.

Kaufman is one of those guys,” Paolo warned me, “where you just know you’re gonna be seeing his picture on TV someday, with all his neighbors talking about how nice and quiet he was, and in the background they’re pulling bodies out of his basement. Just something wrong with him that you can’t put your finger on. Like you look in his eyes and there’s nothing really there.

Two months ago, Lauren Carmichael’s husband and son were murdered in a home invasion. She was conveniently working late that night. Sheldon Kaufman’s sister died two weeks later, casualty of a convenience store robbery. Just a day after that, Meadow Brand’s father was stabbed to death in what’s being reported as a mugging gone wrong.” Why don’t you just kill your wife? Sheldon had asked Tony back at the golf course. Because I don’t love my wife. “Christ,” I breathed. “It’s not just any souls they need. Family members. Blood relations, maybe. Someone they have a personal bond with.” “An intimate sacrifice,” Bentley said.

I’m going to find out who Amber is. We’ve got to get to her before he does.” My head swirled with maybes. Maybe Tony would lose his nerve. Maybe he’d drag his heels just a little longer. Maybe he’d show his hand too soon, and Amber would fight him off or get away from him in time. There was still a chance. I love social media and the people who are careless with it. Tony had an open Facebook profile. I rummaged through his pictures and posts, looking for a clue. Then I found one, and wished I hadn’t. “Bentley.” “Did you find her?” he asked, peering over his bifocals. “Amber’s his daughter, Bentley. She’s eight years old.

A locust job was the magician’s equivalent of erasing the porn from your dead buddy’s hard drive before his mom sees it. They’d scour Spengler’s house for any enchanted relics, journals, grimoires, and occult ciphers, anything that could raise a citizen’s eyebrow.

Tony Vance was going to answer for what he’d done. Not to the cops, not to God. He was going to answer to me.

Tonight, this guy Tony…he drowned his daughter. Drowned her and sucked the soul out of her body. She was only eight years old. I asked him why he did it. He said I had it all wrong, that they’re the good guys. They’re trying to save the world, he told me.” “Everyone,” Caitlin said, cradling her wine glass, “is the hero of his own story. That goes double for fanatics. Some of the greatest horrors in history were perpetrated by people who insisted, all the way to damnation’s door, that they fought on the side of the angels.

must not be denied that I am a plain-dealing villain,

You know the Bard! ‘If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking. In the meantime, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.

This was the real blues, down-home raw and ragged, drenched with sweat and sex and the bloodied edge of a switchblade.

There are few things more dangerous than a zealot with discipline,

Literally sold his soul? Like, ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia,’ Robert Johnson at the crossroads—” “Like Mephistopheles and your namesake, or the violinist Niccolò Paganini, or the Rolling Stones, yes, exactly.” She paused. “Forget I said that last one.

A couple strolled by behind my chair. For a moment, they got between us and the closest light, casting Freddie in a patch of shadow. As the light peeled away, so did the facade. A desiccated corpse reclined on the divan, with skin turned blue and chapped by arctic windburn. The corpse grinned at me from a lipless mouth, showing sharp yellowed teeth. Her nose and most of one cheek had rotted away, the ragged wounds black with frostbite, and iron talons three inches long curled around the stem of her martini glass. Then the light flooded back and the moment was gone. Freddie must have caught the look on my face. She smiled and gave me a wink.

His gaze slid from her headscarf to her glass of club soda. “Still pretending to be a Muslim?” “Hey, Damien,” Freddie said, “still pretending to be a man?” “Dances-with-Knives, a pleasure as always.” He lowered his voice. “I could ask you a similar question, wendigo.” “I was commenting on your lack of genitals.” Freddie leaned closer to me, cupped one hand to the side of her mouth and stage-whispered, “Nothing down there. Smooth like a Ken doll.

has anybody ever stolen anything from this place and lived to talk about it?” Halima crossed her arms. “Allegedly, a bartender was once short on cab fare home. He borrowed five dollars from the till, intending to pay it back the next day. He was found in his apartment, torn into so many pieces the police had to scoop his remains up with a shovel.” “Zero-tolerance policy,” Freddie added.

The princes of hell were too old, too powerful to operate on Earth. They couldn’t even set foot here without kicking off the apocalypse ahead of schedule. So every prince had a hound: the one demon in their court who was smart enough, tough enough, and mean enough to take care of their court’s business and scare all the other hellspawn into submission.

Jenny sends her best,” Margaux said. “With Nicky being Nicky and Agent Black being, well, everywhere, it’s not safe for her to leave Vegas right now.

That kind? How many kinds of zombies are there?” “There’s the kind that eat people, the kind that don’t eat people…” Margaux’s voice trailed off as she thought it over. “Two. Two kinds. Plenty of variations, but when you’re looking at a dead man walkin’ your way, that’s the one question you need answered fast.” “And don’t shoot for the head, that just pisses ’em off,” Corman said,

Most modern cell phones have a built-in GPS chip, even if you don’t have any kind of GPS software. Allegedly to make it easier for emergency services to find you when you dial 911.” “Allegedly?” Caitlin asked. “It also makes it easier for our burgeoning police state to keep tabs on innocent citizens,” Pixie said. “Have I told you what the NSA does with voicemail—” I cleared my throat.

Does it still look like Jules Verne built a brothel?” I nodded. “I think they call that steampunk now, but yeah. It’s also got free-roaming man-eating shadows for a security system. And does anyone know who owns the place? The locals just call it ‘Management.

I promised Coop two things before he died,” I said. “One, I’d get his cut of the score to his wife. Two, I’d send Stanwyck to hell where he belongs. I’m keeping those promises.” “The latter,” Caitlin said dryly, running a sharp red fingernail down her menu as she read it over, “can be arranged, with pleasure.” “I’m in,” Pixie said. “Let’s kill him.” The table fell quiet.

I gave Caitlin a look. She shrugged. “Don’t know what you want me to say,” Caitlin said. “I don’t understand why humans get so worked up over killing in the first place. This is pest control. You kill him, he goes to hell, he hopefully gets put to good use. Nuisance solved.

Gandhi doesn’t pick up an AK-47, and Pixie doesn’t volunteer to splash blood on her hands.

The truth is,” Nadine purred into my ear, “since the moment we met, all I’ve been thinking about is you, me, and my favorite pair of scissors. I think I’d start by gelding you, like the vile animal you are. And despite knowing this? Despite hearing me tell you exactly what I think of you and how much I’d enjoy making you suffer?

Sunrise came like a stampede of bulls, kicking me out of bed and into the shower as my mind lurched into high gear.

Just think of it like this: you’ve got two options, and you have to pick one.” I held out my hands, palms upward, juggling them up and down like the arms of a scale. “Free money? Bullet in the head? Free money? Bullet in the head? Now, I’m no professional merchant such as yourself, but if it was up to me? I’d take the free money.

Just very, very bright. So bright that there isn’t a single shadow in the shot.” Dell looked back toward the steel shelves. “Uh, you know that’ll like, wash out everything, right? I mean that’s not really how it’s done—” “Listen to me.” I moved closer, leaning against the counter. “Our needs are very specific. We want to kill shadows. Got it?” “Kill shadows,” he repeated, blinking. “Okay. Hey, sure, you’re the customer, whatever. Let me guess…this is an art film, isn’t it?” “I do like to think of myself as an artist, yes.

Why are you whispering?” “I’m on the roof of an evil flower shop, and I don’t want to get shot.” “That sort of answer,” he said, “really shouldn’t surprise me anymore.

The first combination I tried was 666. You know how some people always set their passwords to “password” or “secret” even though those are terrible choices? In my experience, ask a demon to pick a three-digit number and nine times out of ten, they go with 666. They just can’t help themselves.

There a point behind that history lesson?” I asked. “Only to establish a certain level of, shall we call it, prior claim?” “I’m not positive,” I said, “but I think after sixty or seventy years it becomes more of a finders, keepers sort of situation.” Angelo slapped his knee. “Now, you see? That’s almost exactly what Nicky Agnelli said