He was sound asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the blessed fire blazing, an empty bottle of wine by his side. He hadn't been shaved recently, and he looked rumpled, dissolute and beautiful. Like a fallen angel. She moved to stand in front of him and pointed the pistol directly at his heart. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he murmured, and then he opened his extraordinary eyes. "It's always unwise to shoot the man you're in love with.

If this were a different time, a different place, I would take you to bed with me and make love to you for days.

You tell anyone that I cried, and I'll cut your liver out." "Do you even know where a human liver resides?"[...] "Yes," she said, and punched him in it.

If we don't risk it all, we may as well not write at all.

You don't believe in God, Rachel. You don't believe in goodness or love or mercy, do you?" "I haven't seen enough to form an opinion." "But you believe in the devil?" "When I'm sitting in a car with him, yes," she said.

If you lust after someone and have an absurd and overwhelming need to protect them, then the best way to deal with the situation is to marry the person.

She raised her head finally. He looked the same, but then, he always did. She'd seem him kill twice, and he betrayed no reaction at all. He was a monster, not even human. But he was her monster.