One world on its own is a strange enough seethe of coiling, unknowable veins of intention and chance, but two? Where two worlds mingle breath through rips in the sky, the strange becomes stranger, and many things may come to pass that few imaginations could encompass.

Wishes are false. Hope is true. Hope makes its own magic.

If it's not chocolate, it's not breakfast.

Jael returned the lazy smile. "You're not my type." "Well, you're not anybody's type," said Hazael. "No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better.

Her courage was a guise. She wondered if courage always was, or if there were those who truly felt no fear.

Mercy, she had discovered, made mad alchemy: a drop of it could dilute a lake of hate.

But he is pretty. God, I hope he's not an asshole. Do you think there's any chance he's both non-orifice and single? I mean, seriously. What are the chances?