Basher shook his head. "No, we climbed in through a ground-floor guest bedroom all ninja-like. Snuck up the back stairs." "Then you might be the cavalry," said Tom, "but I'm Santa Claus. Let's go downstairs and open some presents.

You have to keep your mind as wide-open as your eyes, because almost nothing is what it seems.

The truth is the truth. What changes is what we know about it and what we're willing to believe.

He knew that these creatures were dead, that they were reanimated echoes who wore the disguise of the people they had once been, but Tom's words rang in his mind. They used to be people. How could he strike them? How could he hurt them? Children, women, old people. Lost souls.

She wept for the hurt that he owned, a hurt she could never hope to remove.

Rage was sometimes a useful ally in the heat of a fight, but it was a trickster. It made everything seem possible.

Revenge is an infection of the spirit.