You really shouldn’t do that to people," I criticized. "It’s hardly fair." "Do what?" "Dazzle them like that – she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now." He seemed confused. "Oh come on," I said dubiously. "You have to know the effect you have on people." He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?" "You haven’t noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?" He ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle you?" "Frequently," I admitted.

I was like a lost moon―my planet destroyed in some cataclysmic, disaster-movie scenario of desolation―that continued, nevertheless, to circle in a tight little orbit around the empty space left behind, ignoring the laws of gravity.

Vampirism, for me, was a way to live in fantasy and have superpowers, but not just in a really perfect, happy, everything is great way. It's superpowers with a cost. It's having to be the villain, and what do you do about that.

I kept pushing against the black, though, almost a reflex. I wasn't trying to lift it. I was just resisting. Not allowing it to crush me completely. I wasn't Atlas, and the black felt as heavy as a planet; I couldn't shoulder it. All I could do was not be entirely obliterated.

It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape.

You're awfully small to be so hugely irritating.

You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?