I don’t hate it. It does no good to hate something you can’t change.

Now if you’ll excuse me, Death waits for no man. Except me.

Welcome to the menagerie, where beauty and grace shine from every cage and peek from every shadow. You’ve never seen anything like the exotic wonders within, so keep your eyes open, ladies and gentlemen, because in our world of spectacle and illusion, what you see isn’t always what you get.

If I love you more than you love me, I’m as good as dead. Yet I can’t make myself take it back. I can’t just walk away from you, because every time you pass by me without smiling, without touching my hand, or at least making eye contact, it feels like I’m dying inside. And I’m pretty sure that hurts worse than whatever Marc would do to me. Whatever your dad would do. Hell, Faythe, I’m pretty sure that never touching you again would hurt worse than the nastiest death Calvin could think up for me.

Okay, you’ve primped enough. Now go bug someone else,” Ethan said, shooing me out the door. “I have to clean the bathroom.” “That should be interesting,” I quipped. “Maybe I should stay and watch.” “Maybe you should stay and help.” Cupping one hand behind my ear, I grinned, pretending to listen. “I think I hear Marc calling.

It’s not the length of the word; it’s how well you use it!

It would be so much easier if there were a secret password, or handshake. Netherworld, open sesame! Yeah, that didn’t work, either.

So, ‘reaper’ is really just a nice word for ‘covert pervert?’ Is that what you’re saying?

There’s pressure, but that’s true no matter who you are or what you do.

Just FYI, in your case, I think it’s okay to fear the reaper.