You made this?' Finn looks at me. 'No, Saint Anthony brought it to me in the night. He was very put out I didn't give it to you right then.

They bit you. You should've changed, too, you know." "Sometimes I wish I had," I told him. He closed his eyes, miles away on the other side of the bed. "Sometimes I do, too.

I feel like I have so many stories basting in my mind, and they come busting out when they're ready.

This is about as comforting as a cold brick when you're lonely.

Did no one tell him that pain lives in this sand, dug in and watered with our blood?

World of words lost on the living / I take my place with the walking dead / Robbed of my voice I'm always giving / Thousands of words to this nameless dread.

It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.