All I need is a badly mangled, irate sentence stalking me.

Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, "You're a leftie, Barrons." "Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmured.

Hard. Fast. Deep. When I'm done you'll know you're mine.

Like is an emotion. Emotions”—he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly—“are like holding water. You open your hand, there’s nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.

It's often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all.

I began peering into the corners of the room, making sure all the shadows were cast by objects and obeying known laws of physics.

Once, long ago in her world, a sunny day in spring was her favorite, but now a sunny day in winter delights her more. It is the perfect metaphor for their love. Sunshine on ice. She warms his frost. He cools her fever.