choose now," he spat, his eyes practically shooing sparks. "me or him." gosh,Fang, you romantic fool," i said sarcastically."howw incredibly sexist pig of you.

There was something I needed to say. “Sorry. About before.” Fang shot a sideways glance at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable, as always. He looked back out at the water. I didn’t expect any more acknowledgment than that. Fang never- “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he said quietly. “When I saw you, and all that blood . . .” He threw a small rock as hard as he could down the beach. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t do it again,” he said. I swallowed hard. “I won’t.” Something changed right then, but I didn’t know what.

What kind of thoughtless creep would burn a book?

Oh no! Don't drag us away from Antartica and take us to the playground of the rich and famous! Not that briar patch! -Max

It was like meeting someone out of your dreams, or fantasies, or a beloved character from a favorite book.

A lot of writers fall in love with their sentences or their construction of sentences, and sometimes that's great, but not everybody is Gabriel Garcia Marquez or James Joyce. A lot of people like to pretend that they are, and they wind up not giving people a good read or enlightening them.

The trick to having obedient, unquestioning children was to have death be the other option