You both talk too much,” the kid says. “Shut up. Don’t make me tell you again.”We shut up, which I find hysterically funny.

Fine. Okay. I killed her. But I didn’t mean to. And I didn’t kill her, kill her.”“Oh, I see. As long as you didn’t kill her, kill her, then that’s okay.

You got me a birthday cake. It was pink. I smashed it into the ceiling.

Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, "You're a leftie, Barrons.""Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmured.

He's the ultimate plagiarist, copying what others do if it proves successful and putting his own spin on it, which really pisses me off, because it`s far more difficult to come up with the original idea than steal someone else`s and spruce it up a bit.

Gwen Cassidy needed a man.Desperately.Failing that, she'd settle for a cigarette.

You could ask me to teach you.”“Huh?” This night is getting weird in a hurry. “Teach me like you’re teaching a class or something? What are you going to call it: ‘You Too Can Be a Sociopath 101’?”“It would be more like a graduate-level class.” I start to snicker. His sense of humour sneaks up on you. Then I remember who’s talking and bite it off.

I'd turn and run but I'm anchored by two dudes that could hold the Titanic during a tsunami.

Like sheep, sidhe-seers herd by nature, until you *want* them to go somewhere. Then they're all fluffy bottoms and broken.