You don't know me. Don't ever think you know me. The only things you know about me are the things you made me do, and that illustrates your character, not mine.

Some day soon, reaper, your mouth is going to be the source of your own destruction." "That does seem likely, doesn’t it?" Tod glanced at me and shrugged. "Until then, it remains a source of my own amusement.

Can’t clean up after you anymore, baby brother, so don’t punk out. Make it count.

So, 'reaper' is really just a nice word for 'covert pervert?' Is that what you're saying?

Near-death experiences release a lot of endorphins, resulting in a natural high," Tod whispered. "And it's totally true that one passion feeds another." "You know we're way past 'near-death', right?" "My endorphins aren't listening to you.

Lit majors are not known for watching where they're going; most of us walk with our eyes in a book instead of on the path ahead.

I grabbed another. Aerosmith. Nope, can’t throw classic Aerosmith. I snatched a copy of the Thompson Twins’ greatest hits and chucked it at him.