More and more I feel like the boy who cut off his nose to spite his face.

I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.

There are dog people and cat people.

Everyone danced -- sweaty bodies packed tight, drunk with sound.

It demeans you to cover rotten meat with honey. I know what I am. What would you want with a monster?" "Everything.

She knew she shouldn't feel that way about a monster, but right then, she wanted nothing more than a monster of her very own.

I'm the best kind of thief, the kind that leaves behind items equal in value to those he's stolen.