The Sandman #56

I think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn’t that dumb? But it was like I knew her. Like she was my oldest, dearest friend. The kind of person you can tell anything to, no matter how bad, and they’ll still love you, because they know you. I wanted to go with her. I wanted her to notice me.

And then she stopped walking. Under the moon, she stopped. And she looked at us. She looked at me. 

Maybe she was trying to tell me something; I don’t know. She probably didn’t even know I was there. But I’ll always love her. All my life.

The Sandman #56

Then I watched these murky giants walk slowly across the sky, and I felt like my world was falling apart. Like there was nothing left to hold on to. Nothing left to believe. I was watching it, I couldn’t look away. But part of me was watching myself watching the procession, and realizing that while I watched I was…being…changed, I suppose. I was seeing something I couldn’t describe; that I couldn’t explain.

I don’t know what they were. I don’t know who had died, who they were mourning, whose casket they followed. But it didn’t matter.

They were there. In the sky. And I believed in miracles. I didn’t have any choice.

The Sandman #64

“You’re sick.”

“No. I am a visionary.”

“There will always be sacrifices to the Morrigan, the lady of war…”

The Sandman #63

“I have come a very long way. Further than I’ve ever gone before. I am seeking the Furies.”

“Not the Furies, my Lobelia. That’s such a nasty name. It’s one of the things the call women, to put us in our place…

Termagant.

Shrew.

Vixen.

Virago.

Witch.

Bitch.

Do we look furious to you?”

The Sandman #63

“Are…are you the Furies?”

“Are we the Furies?”

“Are you a hand? Or an eye? Or a tooth?”

“No, of course not. I am myself. But I have those things within me…”

“There you go, then, my little scorpion-flail…”

elliottmarshal:

By Mike Huddleston

“There’s a tale in the Caballa that suggests that the Angel of Death is so beautiful that on finally seeing it (or him, or her) you fall in love so hard, so fast, that your soul is pulled out through your eyes.

I like that story.

There’s an Islamic story that declares that the Angel of Death has huge wings covered in eyes, and that as each mortal dies one of its eyes closes, just for a moment.

I like that story too, and take pleasure in imagining huge wings, and a ripple of ever-opening, ever-closing beautiful eyes.

And there’s a touch of wish fulfillment in there too. I didn’t want a Death who agonised over her role, or who took a grim delight in her job, or who didn’t care. I wanted a Death that I’d like to meet, in the end. Someone who would care.

Like her.”

—Neil Gaiman

Speaking of the Endless, I can’t help but hope that at the end she’s there offering me a hand and a smile. It’s supremely naive, but wouldn’t it make it all so much easier?

Delirium’s moments of clarity (why did I type levity at first?) are always really poignant as well.

Delirium is such a great character.