The Beast Lord way: often wrong but never in doubt.

If the lot of you survives, Curran will fray the skin off your backs,' Doolittle said. 'That's what I always love about you, Doctor.' Raphael grinned. 'You're a cup-halfway-full kind of guy. All flowers and sunshine.

I had the metabolism of a hummingbird on crack.

He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and doubled over in a sneezing fit. My werewolf was allergic to tortoises. Why me?

You sure you don’t want me to stay? I’ll make you coffee and ask you about your day.

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.

As he passed me, he leaned to Curran and handed him a paper fan folded from some sort of flyer. Curran looked at the fan. “What?” "An emergency precaution, Your Majesty. In case the lady faints.” Curran just stared at him. Raphael strode toward the Pit, turned, flexed a bit, and winked at me. "Give me that,” I told Curran. “I need to fan myself.” "No, you don’t.