... imperfection would get me farther than perfection.

Metaphors. This was the cost of making out with an artist.

I'm always at least ten minutes early.

I figured I could read more than five pages tonight since I'd been deprived for the last couple of days. When I finished the fifteenth, I discovered I was three pages from the next chapter. Might as well end with a clean break. After I was done, I sighed and leaned back, feeling decadent and spent. Pure bliss. Books were a lot less messy than orgasms.

Can we go back to the part about Moroi girls hanging out in LA?" asked Adrian hopefully. "Can you direct me to some of the…oh, let’s say, more open-minded ones?

He stepped forward and punched Dorian in the face, hard enough that I heard a thwack. "Ow," moaned Dorian, wincing from the pain. "My greatest asset.

Don't be too hasty," she warned. "Conserve your strength. If you're too eager to fight the undead, you may find yourselves joining them. Then you'd never see us again, and we'd be very sad." "Yes," said Christian. "I'd cry into my pillow every night." I resisted the urge to kick him. "Well, I couldn't visit if I was Strigoi, yeah, but hopefully I'd just die a normal death. Then I could come see you as a ghost.