The snow may be falling in the winter of my discontent, but at least I've got sarcastic company.

You know what ambrosia tastes like? It tastes like all the things you can't eat on Weight Watchers. Cheeseburgers, sugar cookies, regular freaking ice cream instead of, like, ice cream that's made out of air and human hope.

God will punish the wicked. And before He does, we will.

"I think forever is an incorrect concept," I answered. He smirked. "You're an incorrect concept." "I know. That's why I'm being taken out of the rotation".

I was born into Bolívar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

I think that it's a universal urge to have our pain not be felt alone and to have our joys not be felt alone.

But I had to kill you, because the only other possible ending was us doing it, which I wasn't really emotionally ready to write about at ten.' 'Fair enough,' I say. 'But in the revision, I want to get some action.