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.

True strength isn’t in killing—or ignoring—your opponent, it’s in having the will to shield those who need your protection.

On the plus side, if he ever had to fight through a roomful of adolescent girls, he only needed to blink (his velvet brown eyes framed in embarassingly long lashes) a few times, and they would all faint.

They hold a grudge like it was their family treasure.

The good doctor put a spoon of tea into my honey." "You're drinking tea a honey badger made," Jim said. "What did you expect?

There was something very comforting about him, and I was not sure if it was his easy manner or his complete immunity to my scowling.

I got a dog-training book. It says Grendel needs mental stimulation, so I tried to train him, but I think he must be retarded.