Daemon had written: "What do you do when she asks a question no man would give a child an answer to?" Saetan had replied: "Hope you're obliging enough to answer it for me. However, if you're backed into a corner, refer her to me. I've become accustomed to being shocked.

It was easier when all we wanted to do was eat them and take their stuff,” he grumbled. And it had been easier when he hadn’t cared if he made any of them cry.

Words lie. Blood doesn't.

Our recovery of hope - full colour, three-dimensional, hard working, clear thinking, wildly radical, living hope - is our key to liberation.

Sylvia had given him a scalding lecture, the gist of it being that whatever a woman enjoyed wearing was feminine and anything she didn't enjoy wearing wasn't, and if he was too stubborn and old fashioned to understand that, he could go and soak his head in a bucket of cold water. He hadn't quite forgiven her yet for saying they would have to look hard to find a bucket big enough to fit his head in to, but he admired the sass behind the remark.

People who entered the Courtyard without an invitation were just plain crazy! Wolves were big and scary and so fluffy, how could anyone resist hugging one just to feel all that fur? “Ignore the fluffy,” she muttered. “Remember the part about big and scary.

When a man wears his pants that tight, they tend to pinch his balls, and that tends to pinch his temper.