I’d seen him fight before, but it never got old. He was captivating. He never stopped moving. Every action was graceful and lethal. He was a dancer of death.

You have the patience of a saint," I grumbled, slouching into a chair. "And besides, you don't hang out with him 24/7." "Neither will you. It's only 24/6." "Same difference. It might as well be 24/10." She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense.

You can't save everyone, though God knows you try.

She stared at me with concern a few moments longer and then relaxed a little. "Okay. But if you need anything—" "I know, I know. Call on the Love Phone.

I can't wait until this show gets on the road," he said. "You and me are going to have so much fun, Rose. Picking out curtains, doing each other's hair, telling ghost stories..." The reference to "ghost stories" hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. Not that choosing curtains or brushing Christian's hair was much more appealing.

I just told you to be quiet. That's one step away from asking you to wash my laundry and make me a sandwich.

I'm really not good with impulse control.