Mom raised us to believe that every lie puts something out there in the world that's inevitably going to come back and bite you in the petunia.

Werewolves? Oh please, just plain stupid. Who wants to get it on with a man ruled by his inner dog?

Don't bother trying to guilt me. Ask my other. It doesn't work.

Please tell me we don't grow up and turn into the adults that drive us crazy.

The battle had been invisible to the naked eye, but the hardest ones are.

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.

I'd gazed into the abyss and the abyss had gazed back, just like Daddy always said it would: You want to know about life, Mac? It's simple. Keep watching rainbows, baby. Keep looking at the sky. You find what you look for. If you go hunting good in the world, you'll find it. If you go hunting evil . . . well, don't.