You're raining on my parade.""It's a pretty wet parade already, if you hadn't noticed.

Love and hate had their own secret languages, and Mark and Kieran were speaking in them now.

There was dancing to wear your feet down, and there were beautiful boys and girls, and kisses were cheaper than wine but the wine was sweet and the fruit sweeter. And you could still hear the music in your head.

Kieran glanced at her with shimmering eyes. Neither looked quite human: The black eye was too dark, the silver too metallic. And yet the overall effect was haunting, inhumanly beautiful.

It's so hard to be sassy to the Fair Folk. You people never get jokes

He learned that kisses and touches and professions of love could make you forget, and that the more he was with Kieran, the more he wanted to be with him and not with anyone else.

This is a copy of the Black Volume of the Dead (...) The Queen says it is an exact duplicate. It was made with the assistance of a wizard of great power called OfficeMax, of whom I know nothing.""Jesus Christ," Julian muttered.

The Folk love nothing more than mortal beauty.

It was an odd bit of doggerel. First the flame and then the flood, in the end it's Blackthorn blood.