Ronan kept staring at Whelk. He was good at staring. There was something about his stare that took something from the other person.

I am not a huge fan of the one-sided pining romances where the guy is a perfect love-object because we don't see inside his head.

It was exactly what I wanted-beautiful distraction.

He danced on the knife’s edge between awareness and sleep. When he dreamt like this, he was a king. The world was his to bend. His to burn.

What a grin he had, what ferocious eyes, what a creature he was. He had dreamt himself an entire life and death. Ronan said, "I want to go back." "Then take it," said his father. "You know how now." And Ronan did. Because Niall Lynch was a forest fire, a rising sea, a car crash, a closing curtain, a blistering symphony, a catalyst with planets inside him. And he had given all of that to his middle son.

It wasn’t a touch that said I need more. It was a touch that said I want this.

Did you know you get one happy day for every one you catch?... One happy day for every falling leaf you catch" -sam