I am your sire. I am to guide you through your first days as a vampire. Your first feeding is a rite of passage, a sacrament. It will not be wasted on some hormone-driven frenzy. This is why I wanted you to feed from me.”“I will not drink it in a house, I will not drink it with a mouse. I will not drink it here or there, I will not drink it anywhere,” I wheezed, hoping I was able to communicate adequate sarcasm through the crippling belly cramps.“Did you just quote Green Eggs and Ham?

I have a phonetic fetish. All I want is to find a man whose last name ends in 'Vrski' and marry him. Try saying VRSKI. Oh, don't be a tight-ass. SAY IT. Don't you love the purring sound it makes in your mouth? It's the kind of name I love waking up to every morning - 'Good morning, BlahBlahVrski', the kind I can brag about on Facebook - 'Judy Balan has now changed her name to Judy SomethingVrski' and the kind I can scream in a fit of passion - 'Ohhhhh Vrrrrssskkkkiiiii!

The witch's hair was too short and too dark for blond. She wasn't sure if that relieved her or disturbed her.Riley had immediately begun his interrogation, and it had gone something like this:Riley: Where is the meeting between your kind and Aden Stone supposed to take place?Witch: Go suck yourself.Riley: Maybe later. Meeting?Witch: Enjoy death.Riley: I have once already. Now, decide to talk or lose a body part.Witch: May I recommend a finger?Riley: Sure. After I take one of your very necessary hands.

Baumauer has been lured into the exhausting habit of supplying Kalist with ever more exceptional quality work just to appease him and often survives all day and all evening without food, but Maxwell D. Kalist is never satisfied. He heavily criticises every piece of banking intelligence the man hands him. The pressure on Baumauer to improve on his performance each month is growing; some say it’s out of control. He’s smoking forty a day and smells like the inside of the deceased Kladno-Konev chimney.

We fatties have a bond, dude. It's like a secret society. We got all kinds of shit you don't know about. Handshakes, special fat people dances-we got these secret fugging lairs in the center of the earth and we go down there in the middle of the night when all the skinny kids are sleeping and eat cake and friend chicken and shit. Why d'you think Hollis is still sleeping, kafir? Because we were up all night in the secret lair injecting butter frosting into our veins. ...A fatty trusts another fatty.

Did you like question ten, Moony?" asked Sirius as they emerged into the entrance hall."Loved it," said Lupin briskly. "Give five signs that identify the werewolf. Excellent question.""D'you think you managed to get all the signs?" said James in tones of mock concern."Think I did," said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. "One: He's sitting on my chair. Two: He's wearing my clothes. Three: His name's Remus Lupin...

Life is All About How you Handle Plan BPlan A is always my first choice.You know, the one whereEverything works out to beHappily ever-after.But more often than not,I find myself dealing withThe upside-down, inside-out version --Where nothing goes as it should.It's at this point that the realTest of my character comes in..Do I sink, or do I swim?Do I wallow in self pity and play the victim,Or simply shift gearsAnd make the best of the situation?The choice is all mine...Life is all about how you handle Plan B.

We need to gather everyone we can.Damien scoffed. Uh, boss, hate to be a pall, but I think everyone we can gather is currently in this room.Sin paused to look at Simi, Xirena, Damien, Kat, Kish, and Xypher. It was a pitiful number of defenders. But it was all the world had. In that case, we need to seriously arm ourselves.Damien crossed himself. Hail Mary, full of grace-What are you doing? Kish asked. You're not Catholic.Yeah but I'm feeling really religious all of a sudden and it seemed like a good idea.

I don’t think I like that boy.” He growled, glaring for effect, just in case I hadn’t figured out his oh-so-subtle interpersonal cues.“He’s a sweet kid,” I insisted, folding the gray blazer over my arm.“He’s a teenage boy,” Cal said, his dark eyes narrowed. “They’re all sexual deviants under the surface. I should know. I was a teenage boy once.”“Thousands of years ago,” I countered.“Times may change, but testosterone does not.

[Lennie meets Joe - he works out that she was named after John Lennon]I nod. "Mom was a hippie." This is northern Northern California after all - the final frontier of freakerdom. Just in the eleventh grade we have a girl named Electricity, a guy named Magic Bus, and countless flowers: Tulip, Begonia, and Poppy - all parent-given-on-the-birth-certificate names. Tulip is a two-ton bruiser of a guy who would be the star of out football team if we were the kind of school that has optional morning meditation in the gym

No congratulations?’ Derry said cheerfully. ‘No “well done, Derry”? I am disappointed in you, William Pole. There’s not many men could have pulled this off in such a time, but I have, haven’t I? The French looked for foxes and found only innocent chickens, just like we wanted. The marriage will go ahead and all we need to do now is mention casually to the English living in Maine and Anjou that their service is no longer appreciated by the Crown. In short, that they can fuck off.

I was just learning how to read and was reading every sign out loud, practising, and when I saw Cockburn Avenue I said Cock Burn Avenue and then asked what's that? And Elf, she must have been eleven or twelve, said that's from too much sex and my mother said shhhh from the front passenger seat and we didn't dare look over at my dad who clutched the wheel and peered out the windshield like a sniper tracking his target. There were two things he didn't ever want to talk about and they were sex and Russia.

It was one of those moments in which I become very uncomfortable. One of those times when nothing you say can be right, and almost anything you do say is wrong. I could see no answer but the classic Croaker approach.I began to back away.That is how I handle my women. Duck for cover when they get distressed.I almost made it to the door.She could move when she wanted. She crossed the gap and put her arms around me, rested a cheek against my chest.And that is how they handle me, the sentimental fool. The closet romantic.

Would you please just talk to me? Please?" Sally's voice was beginning to take on a high-pitched whine."Oh, good grief. For the love of healthy ears everywhere, quit your belly aching," Jen snapped, the clothes in her hands growing more wrinkled by the second. "Sally, there is nothing to talk about, okay? It is what it is."Sally threw her hands up in the air as she exhaled loudly. "No, it is not what it is, whatever the hell that means. It's a whole freaking lot more complicated than 'it is what it is'.

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