Sookie," Eric said. I didn't think he'd heard a word. "Yield to me." Well, that was pretty direct.

The world seemed a bad and terrible place, all its denizens suspect, and I the lamb wandering through the valley of death with a bell around my neck.

We could go back to your house. I can stay with you always. We can know each others bodies in every way, night after night. I could love you. I could work, you would not be poor. I would help you.

I'm a middle-class former housewife who goes to my daughter's softball games.

But there's a juicy artery in your groin," he said after a pause to regroup, his voice as slithery as a snake on a slide. "Don't you talk dirty," I told him. "I won't listen to that.

Everyone thinks I'm crazy, you know, because I can't tell them the truth; which is, that I'm driven crazy by all these thoughts, all these heads.

People are really interested in the concept of eternal youth in this plastic-surgery culture.