Gwen Cassidy needed a man. Desperately. Failing that, she'd settle for a cigarette.

A fecking flamethrower! Why didn't I think of that? Best I came up with was a measly hair dryer.

Hope is a critical thing. Whithout it, we are nothing. Hope shapes will. The will shapes the world.

It's so easy to lie. What’s even worse is how we cling to those lies. We beg for the illusion so we don’t have to face the truth, don’t have to feel alone.

Goor or evil, right or wrong, he mattered to me.

Those who were so long imprisoned in ice and darkness seem to find the sunlight jarring, painful. The longer I walk around with this grief inside me, the more I understand that. It’s as if sunshine is a slap in the face that says, Look, the world’s all bright and shiny! Too bad you’re not.

You could ask me to teach you.” “Huh?” This night is getting weird in a hurry. “Teach me like you’re teaching a class or something? What are you going to call it: ‘You Too Can Be a Sociopath 101’?” “It would be more like a graduate-level class.” I start to snicker. His sense of humour sneaks up on you. Then I remember who’s talking and bite it off.