That boy needs a hobby." "Stalking is a hobby." "So is serial killing.

You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.

I'd have a longer attention span if there weren't so many shiny things.

I suck at all this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken. Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.

Want coffee?" I asked, as I headed that way. "It's three thirty in the morning." "Okay. Want coffee?

He’d actually hit me! It didn’t matter that hitting me wasn’t really like hitting a regular girl and I’d be completely healed in a matter of hours. I was still a freaking girl, and he damned well knew it. I’d just have to hit him back. With a lead pipe. Or an eighteen-wheeler.

Is it just me or does the fact that you live in the same building you were abducted into seem a bit morbid?" "Pffft. It’s just you," I said, discounting the entire bizarre ghoulish thing.