How dare the embodiment of her worst nightmare come packaged as her hottest fantasy?

You, Ms. Lane, are a menace to others! A walking, talking catastrophe in pink!

In my experience, anybody besides your mom that feeds you is going to want something in exchange for it.

Think you two puny Druids can hold this keep for a single night?

The inspector ate only two of my tiny sandwiches: the first because he hadnt expected it to taste so awful; the second, I think, because hed thought surely the first must have been a mistake.

Lust is a thing of the blood. Doesn't need head or heart.

Don't accuse me of being morbid when I'm merely the product of a culture that buries the bones of the ones they love in pretty, manicured flower gardens so they can keep them nearby and go talk to them whenever they feel troubled or depressed. That's morbid. Not to mention bizarre. Dogs bury bones, too.