No, Michael was all good. Killed, dismembered, buried, reborn…yeah, just another day in the life.

I think so,” she [Claire] said. “Just watch your back, okay?” “Nah, Michael’s got mine.” He [Shane] looked straight into her eyes. “I’ve got yours.

Expecting anybody else?" Shane asked Eve. "Your distant cousin Jack the Ripper dropping by too?" "Screw you, Collins.

Bracelets with white symbols?” Michael made the question casual; in fact, he bent his head and concentrated on tuning his guitar, not that it needed it. Every note sounded perfect as it whispered out of the strings. “Do you remember?” “No.” She felt a pure burst of something that wasn’t quite panic, wasn’t quite excitement. “Does that mean they have Protection?” He hesitated for about a second, just long enough for her to know he was surprised. “You mean condoms?” he asked. “Doesn’t everybody?

Shane settled his flamethrower more comfortably on his shoulders. “Ladies? After you.” “Rude,” Claire said. “I was being polite!” “Not when you have a flamethrower.

You're kidding. I thought all geniuses read Latin. Isn't that the international language for smart people?"-Shane (Glass Houses)

Great," Shane said. "Look i'd rather not be on janitorial duty. I have allergies to cleaners." "And to cleaning," Michael said. "Look who's talking, Didn't the do one of those Animal Planet documentaries about the roaches in your room?