I'm a werewolf trapped in a human body." "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition." "No, really. I'm trapped." "Oh? When was the last time you shape-shifted?" "That's just it - I've never shape-shifted." "So you're not really a werewolf." "Not yet. But I was meant to be one, I just know it. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?

I looked at my two wolves. When I knelt they came to me rubbed against me smelling me and I stroked them. "Thank you for believing in me " I said and maybe they understood and maybe they didn't.

A lot of what we're doing here deals with perception rather than truth. Many would argue that reality depends more on the former than the latter.

Why vampires? You write centuries-long family sagas—why not write historical epics without any hint of the supernatural?" "Well, that would be boring, wouldn't it?" "Yeah, God only knows what Tolstoy was thinking.

He's a bully. I love bullies. They have such big, shiny red buttons to push.

All you know is what you think you know, but that isn't always what's real.

It doesn’t bother you that your canine brethren are being paraded around show rings like slaves?” “My canine brethren?” I said. “I don’thave any canine brethren.” “How can you say that! You’re a werewolf.” “That’s right. I’m a werewolf, not a poodle. What makes you think I have any kinship with dogs?