Nice is good, but it's not enough. I want you back for real. I want to talk to you at lunch, instead of staring at you while you eat. I want to see the smile on your face and know I put it there. I want to hear your dad's voice get all low and pissed off, like it only does when I've stayed over too late.

It was an addiction. A pointless, self-destructive addiction. But really, is there any other kind?

The dead have a way of becoming saints in the eyes of their survivors.

I want you. I want only you. I want all of you. But I'll take whatever you're ready to give.

He’s not like you, Tod. Aside from a couple of notable exceptions, you tend to think things through, but Nash is ruled by his heart—

Sophie glanced from me to Sabine, then back, scowling. "I'm not scared of her. I can handle myself." "Yeah, and hissing kittens think they're badass too," Sabine said.

Great. I'm psychotic and sparkly.