You'll wrest a burning sword from an angel, but you're afraid of bats?" "I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like them. They're...furry. Flying things shouldn't be furry. It's not right. And if I ever meet the Creator, I'm taking that one up with him." "That I'd like to see. Your one and possible only chance to get the answer to every question in the universe, and you ask, 'Why are bats furry?'" "I will. You just wait.

Who cared whether you could change motor oil when you could snap a rottweiler’s neck in 2.8 seconds? Now there was a practical skill.

Uh-uh. We've played this game before. I hide. You never seek. I'm a bit slow on the uptake, but I'm beginning to sense a pattern.

I slid closer, feeling his arms close around me, tightening. Our lips touched-- "Derek?" his dad called. "Chloe?" Derek let out a growl. I laughed and backed up. "We seem to get a lot of that, don't we?" I said. "Too much. After we eat, we're going for a walk. A long walk. Far from every possible interruption." I grinned up at him. "Sounds like a plan

You bat your baby blues at tall, dark, and gruesome, and next thing you know, he's trailing you like a lost puppy.

This is so cool," I said loudly as Dad walked away. "Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?" "He's a she," Mom said. "Is she hot? Cause I'm still young, you know. My sexual identity isnt fully formed." "Your father can't hear you anymore, Maya." Mom sighed.

And the lesson is that I should always wear these, so no one asks me to do anything crazy like climb onto a roof. ~Jaime Vegas on why she wears three inch heels on a mission