The warrior (Zsadist) rolled his black eyes. "Come on, man. What does it matter to me? You, Tohr. Britney Spears.

You've won the evolutionary lottery: You're a vampire. Let's go to Disneyland!

Sometimes words were less valuable than the air that carried them when it came to getting close.

When you were young, you thought time was a burden, something to be discharged as fast as possible so you could be grown-up. But it was such a bait-n-switch – when you were an adult, you came to realize that minutes and hours were the single most precious thing you had.

You're a good Irishman, right?" When Butch nodded, V said, "Irish, Irish… let me think. Yeah…" Vishous's eyes sobered, and in a voice that cracked, he said, "May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And… my dearest friend… until we meet again may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand.

We also mark what's ours. And as I'm not going to see you for twelve hours, I think I'll leave a little more all over you.

We’re vampires,” he said. “Not fairies.” “Sometimes I’m not so sure about that. You see that study your king hangs out in?” “He’s nearly blind.” “Which explains why he hasn’t hanged himself in that pastel train wreck.” “I thought you were bitching about the gloom-and-doom decorating?” “I free-associate.