There was something striking about her posture; something about the tilt to her head. She was like a beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unreachable.

Some people see what they want to see.

I have a certain avoidance of reality that makes fantasy an ideal choice for me.

You look like a puppy. Like I'm jingling my keys and you're jumping by the door waiting for your walk" "Woof.

He had a carrying, congressional sort of voice, the kind that sounded good saying things like Less of a tax burden on the middle class and Thank you for your donation and Honey, could you bring me my sweater with the duck on it?

Is that all?" she whispered. Gansey closed his eyes. "That's all there is.

Do you have it on your person?" my father asked. "Jesus" I replied. "My person has it in her purse.