Did television execs have souls? Now, that was an existential question and a half.

I’m talking to you more than I speak with my mahmen.” “I thought your mother was dead.” “She is.” “You have a very low standard for communication.

She is more beautiful than I have words for. And last night, I was blessed beyond measure to serve her.

There was both love and despair in his voice. He was truly handicapped when it came to emotions, and falling in love hadn't changed that.

But Tudor mansions on manicured grounds didn't look right with their grand front doors wide open to the night. It was like a debutante flashing her bra thanks to a wardrobe malfunction.

That's where you come in. I want into that guy's mind, and you need to tell me how to do it." Ad shrugged. "Personally, I'd just use a hacksaw, but—" "There are potential consequences and side effects," Eddie said carefully. "Like what?" "Well, worst case... he could end up like Adrian.

Souls were the same. They, too, had useless baggage that impeded their proper performance, these annoying, holier-than-thou bits dangling like an appendix waiting for infection. Faith and hope and love...prudence, temperance, justice, and fortitude...all this useless clutter just packed too much damn morality into the heart, getting in the way of the soul's innate desire for malignancy.