Any other iron on you?” he asked impatiently. “Just my tongue stud.” His look was a mixture of curiosity and horror. “I’m kidding, you idiot. Let’s go.

And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.

I get that you're scared and that you've been hurt. But doing what is easy and safe is no way to live, and a life without passion and love is so far beneath what you deserve.

My life is a black hole of boredom and despair." "So basically you've been doing homework." "Like I said, black hole.

...sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I get bored. And sometimes all I want, more than anything else in the world, is to go on a freaking date.

I'm fine." It's a lie. I am not fine. My head is a symphony of pain, a sadistic master maestro conducting an opus of excruciating, devastating perfecting.

Streams of melting snow.

Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Seriously, did I look like some sort of pyscho assassin? Maybe it was the pink sneakers. Or the heart earrings?

She stared at him in that vapid, intoxicated way employed only by women under a vamp's control. Or the way I sometimes got when faced with cupcakes. Mmm. Cupcakes.

Good luck trying to force Evie to do anything else once she has made up her mind. She is the definition of a stubborn, headstrong teenager.” “And you love me for it.” “I do.

What do you think? Does this face make me look fat?

Expectation and disappointment are far from friends but they are close relations.

The message of great art is to disturb.

Such a display of death - how could it be considered a victory?

Maybe Fate isn't the pond you swim in but the fisherman floating on top of it, letting you run the line wild until you are weary enough to be reeled back in.

How do wars start? Diplomats tell lies to journalists, then believe what they read.

It never hurts to toot your own horn once in a while.

I realise the power of art that does not hang on the walls of galleries.

Ads push the principle of noise all the way to the plateau of persuasion. They are quite in accord with the procedures of brainwashing.

Who's gonna love you when your looks are gone?

If the race is good, so is the place.