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.

Goodness," Myrnin said quietly. "I don't think I should be watching this. I don't think I'm old enough.

Me neither,” Shane put in. “Homie don’t play that.” “I wonder, sometimes, if your generation speaks English at all,” Amelie said.

Well, I can throw a mean comeback, so there's that. I will crush them on wit.

I had no name for that particular hue of orange, other than unfortunate.

When she set Shane’s glass of Coke down in front of him, she did it with probably a little too much emphasis; he glanced up at her with a question-mark expression.[...] ‘‘What?’’ Shane asked her, and took a drink. ‘‘Did I forget to say thanks? Because, thanks. Best Coke ever. Did you make it yourself? Special recipe?

Fire is always ready to burn the hand it warms.