Writers. For some reason, a lot of you reject what you hear and see in your heads. If you go too long ignoring it, it builds up and then you do all sorts of weird things. Mumble to yourself. Nightmares. Day-dreams. Total anarchy and chaos. Before you know it, the writer is either sitting in corner feverishly humming to his- or herself or on Prozac. You’re not on Prozac, are you? (Esther)

Glad to see you’re still breathing.” – Caleb “Glad to be breathing.” – Nick

Because I have nothing else to live for. You told me of your brother’s betrayal. Imagine your own father calling out his hounds to kill your infant daughter and husband. Imagine what it was like to watch them die and then be taken and punished for something you didn’t do. To be stripped of your dignity and emotions because your father was embarrassed by a stupid, insignificant dream he’d had and he blamed everyone who walks in the dreams for it. You feel your pain, Aiden. I feel mine. (Leta)

I learned the bad guys are not always bad, the good guys are not always good, and to quote Captain Barbossa, the parameters are like rules, mostly guidelines. And that it takes a little bit of bad boy to fight the evil in the world. --Terri Mitchell

Tell him what? Kat’s a raging nymphomaniac. (Kytara) Tara! (Kat) Oh, all right. She’s so bland she makes plain toast look spicy. (Kytara)

But I have a gut feeling on this and it’s not the oh-look-it’s-a-bright-shiny-world kind. (Tate)

You’ve no idea...my tongue has been known to let blood on four continents. (Geary)