People are basically irritating. Myself included.

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)

I don’t know nothing about birthing puppies, Miss Scarlett, but I can cleave the head off a Daimon without breaking a sweat. (Valerius)

Yeah, I wish I could have stayed awake long enough to see your face when I changed over. (Wren) No, you don’t. I assure you, it wasn’t pretty. (Maggie) There’s never anything about you that isn’t pretty, Maggie. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. (Wren)

Modus in rebus there must be an end of things.

All right, everyone. Fess up. Who just shat in their pants? C’mon. Admit it. I know I did and I’m wolf enough to own it.” – Sasha

I think infatuation is like a garden. If tended and cared for, it grows into love. If neglected or abused it dies. The only way to have eternal love is to never let your heart forget what it's like to live without it. -Vane