I never read detective novels. I started out in graduate school writing a more serious book. Right around that time I read 'The Day of the Jackal' and 'The Exorcist'. I hadn't read a lot of commercial fiction, and I liked them.

Max: "Okay guys, I had a couple thoughts I wanted to go over with you." Iggy: (pretends to snore loudy) Max: (throws another pinecone at him) Iggy: "Quit throwing things at me!" Max: "Glad you could join us.

living life was like putting the beach into a jar. The point wasn’t to fit everything in; it was to attend to the most important things first—the big, beautiful rocks—the most valuable people and experiences—and fit the lesser things in around them. Otherwise, the best things might get left out

Fang felt a cold jolt, then dismissed it. Max wasn’t dead. He would know, somehow. He would have felt it. The world still felt the same to him; therefore, Max was still in it.

Home is wherever we all are together.

Max, you're the last of the hybrids who still has...a soul.' ... 'She doesn't have soul,' Gazzy scoffed. 'Have you ever seen her dance?

Have you ever been to Colorado?" I frowned. "Is that one of those square ones, in the middle?