You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love.

We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.

And then Evan Walker kisses me.

Sarcasm doesn't appear to work on him. If that's true, I'm in trouble: It's my normal mode of communication.

There was, like, this black hole where the world used to be, and we were both falling toward it. What could we hold on to?

I'm one, too," he said. "What?" He spit a wad of blood and mucus into the dirt. "A virgin." What a shock. "What makes you think I'm a virgin?" I asked. "You wouldn't have hit me if you weren't.

The minute we decide that one person doesn´t matter anymore, they´ve won.