I lived for the night, because I could go over to your house. It was the only thing that kept me going. You were the only thing, actually. It was… you.

Some things are destined to be -- it just takes us a couple of tries to get there.

Indeed, the human mind appeared to suffer from a crippling need to fabricate in the absence of concrete proof.

And bottom line, without John by her side, everything seemed to be just a big, resounding meh.

V jerked back to the present. And for some reason didn't lie. "I'm thinking about my tattoos." "When did you get them?" "Almost three centuries ago." She whistled. "God, you live that long?" "Longer. Assuming I don't get cracked dead in a fight and you fool humans don't blow up the planet, I'll be breathing for another seven hundred years.

I think you and he need to talk. And once you do, I won’t have to worry about being jumped like a felon again.” Blay frowned. “He and I have nothing to say to each other—” “With all due respect, the ligature marks around my neck would suggest otherwise.

We don’t have to talk about Zsadist. That’s okay. He’s the most interesting part of me.