You're dead," I repeated. "So why are you in my dream?" He raised the bill of his olive drab ball cap with one finger. " Good question. Morbid, isn't it?" "What?" "Dreaming about dead peolpe. Creepy. You ever see a therapist about that?" "I'm not -" Even in dreams, I couldn't win an argument. Even when he was dead.

Your education or your life, Claire. I'd rather you be alive and a little bit dumber.

You’re not going to suck.’’ ‘‘Not at the guitar, anyway,’’ Shane said, deadpan. Claire punched him in the arm. ‘‘Ow.

You've turned into quite a bossy little thing," Myrnin said. "I think I might like it.

Jealous?" "Maybe." "No reason. I like my ladies with a pulse.

Is it arrogance if one is truly superior?

Saint Claire, the patron saint of the kick-me sign.