Shane? Thank God, somebody sane. Well, sane-ish.

Bishop was all done with the witty converstaion. "Will you swear?" And Myrnin said, shockingly, "I will." And he proceeded to, a string of swearwords that made Claire blink. He ended with, "--frothy fool-born apple-john! Cheater of vandals and defiler of dead dogs!" and did another twirl and bow. He looked up with a red, red grin that was more like a leer. "Is that what you meant, my lord?

Morely: You're trying to make me [i]Amelie[/i] Oliver: Goodness, no. You'd look terrible in a skirt

Bite me, Goth princess,” Shane called from the back. “Not literally or anything.” “Maybe you should say that to Michael.” “Not funny, Eve,” Michael said. Eve raised her eyebrows and held her fingers up, measuring off about an inch. “Little bit,” she said.

She didn't know what Liam made his coffee with, but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans, because it was the most delicious stuff she'd ever tasted.

There is no such thing as unlimited trust. At some point, all beings with free will can, and will, betray you when you're no longer pursuing the same goals.

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