She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.

Holly: Seriously, you don't like unicorns? What kind person doesn't like unicorns? Justine: What kind of a person doesn't like zombies? What have zombies ever done to you? Holly: Zombies shamble. I disapprove of shambling. And they have bits that fall off. You never see a unicorn behaving that way. Justine: I shamble. Bits fall off me all the time: hair, skin cells. Are you saying you disapprove of me?

This, the language of deception, we both understand. We were born to it, along with the curses.

He looks like the good boy he's never been.

It is my belief that books are living things.

I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstacy, the way they open their mouths as they drown, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they trash in your hands as though with an excess of passion.

Little mouse," a voice said through the keyhole. "Don't you know the more you wriggle, the greater the cat's delight?