It's not that I want you to be a certain way--don't you want a boyfriend?" "Why bother with that? Let's find incubi." "Incubi?" "Demons. Plural. Like octopi. And we're much more likely to find them"--her voice dropped conspiratorially--"while swimming naked in the Atlantic a week before Halloween than practically anywhere else I can think of.

I don't want to be a vampire' she told herself. But in her dreams, she kind of did.-Tana Bach-page 29-chapter 4

Sometimes,” Sam says, “I can’t tell when you’re lying.” “I never lie,” I lie.

Memory is slippery. It bends to our understanding of the world, twists to accommodate our prejudices. It is unreliable. Witnesses seldom remember the same things. They identify the wrong people. They give us the details of events that never happened. Memory is slippery, but my memories suddenly feel slipperier.

I’m Lila, and yes, he’s crazy. But you must have noticed that before now. He was crazy back when I knew him, and he’s obviously gotten crazier over time.

Our tragedy is that we forget it might be someone else first.

No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets.