[...] He tasted like snowflakes and wine, like winter and Will and London.

Tessa poked at her left incisor with her tongue. It was flat again, an ordinary tooth. "I don't understand what makes them come out like that!" "Hunger," said Jem. "Were you think about blood?" "No." "Were you thinking about eating me?" Will inquired. "No!" "No one would blame you," said Jem. "He's very annoying.

Please don’t do this—don’t do this to me. If anything happened to you—” He looked at her with surprise. There was already a red stain on the white bandages that wrapped his chest, where his movements had pulled his wound open. “I…” “What?” “I’m not used to you loving me,” he said.

I do not understand how you humans can walk in shoes that are that tall.” “Its my motto,” said Isabelle, with a sultry smile. “Nothing less than seven inches.

I can't - I'll chop off my own foot!" "If you're going to chop off anyone's foot, chop off Benedict's," Will muttered.

Or perhaps this hostility of yours is the pretense. Love does make liars out of your kind.

What were you dreaming about?" "You." He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. "I always dream about you." "Oh, yeah? Because I thought you were having a nightmare." He tipped his head back to look at her. "Sometimes I dream you're gone," he said. "I keep wondering when you'll figure out how much better you could do and leave me.