Because you are the one. You are better than me in some things, and I am better than you in others...I don’t mind being a bit like you. I hope you don’t mind being a bit like me.

Cajun stomp?" "You heard me, swamper. And keep your hands to yourself.

Some women waited for a night in shining armor. She, apparently, had ended up with a knight in black jeans and leather, who wanted to chase her down and have his evil way with her.

Across from me at the next row of supports Jim raised his hand and touched his fingers to his thumb a few times, imitating an opening and closing beak. Negotiate. He wanted me to engage a lunatic who had already turned four people into smoking meat. Okay. I could do that. “Alright, Jeremy!” I yelled into the night. “Give me the salamander and I won’t cut your head off!” Jim put his hand over his face and did some shaking. I thought he was laughing, but I couldn’t be sure.

It's not your job to die for your Pack! It's your job to make the other bastards die for theirs.

Sometimes, when you crave certain feelings, you'll trick yourself into thinking the other person is something other than what he apears.

It's a reflex. Hear a bell, get food. See an undead, throw a knife. Same thing, really.