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

But – Michael, you said you didn’t know Oliver, and–” “I didn’t, until he killed me. We were never formally introduced.

She keeps asking me where we're going." "Yeah," another voice said. It was Shane, pulling up a chair beside Claire. "Girls do that. They've always got to be taking the relationship somewhere." "That's not true!" "It is," he said. "I get it; somebody's got to be looking ahead. But it makes guys think they're-" "Closed in," Michael said. "Trapped," Shane added. "Idiots," Claire finished.

I stopped in the full force of a patch of sunlight in the lobby window and let my skin soak up the energy. I hadn’t realized I needed it until it reached inside and stilled me in a way that only David’s touch had been able to achieve. “Why does that feel so good?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because we’ve been shut in a room for days.” “Like calls to like,” he said. “You’re made of fire now.” “So I’m going to feel like this every time I pass an open flame? Great. Firegasm.

Even in an apocalypse like this, surely running out of Coke qualified as a disaster.

Myrnin," she said. "He didn't show up at the rendezvous." "And? Dude's crazy, in case you didn't notice recently. He probally went of the chase butterflys or something

You want to go play with your new friends back there? The really pale ones with the taste for plasma? --Shane