50 Quotes by Eliza Crewe

Your death, strange human. I mean, your injury. No murder, just a little maiming. So I can leave. Maiming’s not so bad.

But worries are for people who can’t pull grown men apart with their bare hands.

I eye the three of them, considering. They’ll need a lesson in discretion before I go. Not a lethal lesson. Mom wouldn’t like that.

My teeth rip skin; my jaws snap bones. I am fast, lightning-fast, snuff— oh-was-that-your-life?—oh-was-that-your-life?— fast.

Oooooh, don’t make her mad!” the leader gasps around his laughter.

Death is my art form--when I fight, I'm a ballerina. Graceful. Chi lacks my grace, but makes up for it in energy and enthusiasm. His fighting style is like breakdancing--strong and frenetic with some really sweet moves. Jo's is . . .the Macarena. Ugly but gets the job done.

A human teenager. One of God’s most misbegotten creatures – big like grown-ups and yet dumb like children.

I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls.

What do you say to your best friend when you stand at the gates of the gates of hell? Nothing. If it’s your best friend, she already knows.