You're not very nice," I say, grinning. "You're one to talk." "Hey, I could be nice if I tried." "Hmm." He taps his chin. "Say something nice, then." "You're very good-looking." He smiles, his teeth a flash in this dark. "I like this 'nice' thing.

Human reason can excuse any evil.

Seeing people who are actually reading your book and listening to the wide variety of reactions they have to it, is really special.

His eyes search the crowd until they find my face. My heartbeat lives in my throat; lives in my cheeks. "I still don't understand," he says softly, "how she knew that it would work.

You sadistic pansycake.

I get up, because I’m supposed to, but if it were up to me, I’d stay in my seat for the rest of time.

Guilt [is] a tool, rather than a weapon against the self.