I only need to know one thing. Am I going to need the flamethrower?

Human nature was all about shifting blame...and responsibility. How else could you explain concentration camps and genocide and all the awful things people did to each other every day? They just carried on life and pretended like the evil didn't exist, as long as it was happening out of their direct view.

I hardly broke any laws at all. I should drive more often.

Are you armed?" Oliver asked her. She glanced down at her backpack and instantly, instinctively held back. "No." "Lie to me again and I'll put you out on the street and do this myself." Claire swallowed. "Uh, yeah." "With what?" "Silver-coated stakes, wooden stakes, a crossbow, about ten bolts . . . oh, and a squirt gun with some silver-nitrate solution." He smiled grimly at the dark windshield. "What, no grenade launchers?" "Would they work?" "I choose not to comment.

Want me to warm up the sauce?” “Do we do that? I mean, it’s in a jar, right? Can’t you just dump it over the pasta?” “Well, you can, but it tastes better if you warm it up.” “Oh.” Eve sighed. “This is complicated. No wonder I never cook.

When I want to be lectured on strategy, I'll consult someone who's actually won battles," Amelie said. "Not one who ran away from them." "Snap," Eve said. "You know what they're talking about?" Shane asked. "Don't need to know to get that one. She smacked him so hard his momma felt it.

Pics or it didn't happen." "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.