Suicide was a mortal luxury not afforded to angels.

Oh yes, we're going to brawl, baby. Over you. Again.

Jealous?' Luce asked. They were alone now. She threw her arms around his broad shoulders and looked deep into his violet eyes. 'Why would you be jealous?' 'Because,' he said, rubbing his hands across her back. 'Your dance card is full. For all eternity.

Oh, jeez, please kill that metaphor,...Or kill me. One or the other.

Lys," he whispered. "Do you know what's coming?" "Yes," she whispered. "And you know that I'll be with you until the end?

The tender pressure of his lips soothed her, like a warm drink in the dead of the winter, when every part of her felt so cold.

What you call love does not sound very beautiful.