It’s Adrian Ivashkov logic. Don’t try to understand it. Just roll with it.

If I let myself love you, I won't throw myself in front of her. I'll throw myself in front of you.

I saw endless depths of brown, the depths I'd fallen into so many times. No red rings. Dimitri...was not a Strigoi. And he was weeping.

Fine, I guess it's ok then. Go ahead." "Huh? What's ok?" "It's okay if you marry my brother.

How we love others is affected by how we love ourselves, and for the first time in a long time, I was whole.

So far I’m not seeing a lot of difference between me and a carnival con-man.

But all I could see was her. No skill of mine, no artist anywhere, could’ve immortalized how gorgeous she was. It was impossible to believe she’d ever had any doubts about her body. The firelight shone on her skin, golden and perfect, making her look like some radiant goddess of legend. I wanted to kneel before her and offer eternal obedience.