Quotes from Kat Richardson

You! You are so lucky you're dead.

Are you at work? I asked. Not precisely, but that's a good suggestion....

Terror is the instinct that tells you to run, dear God, run, she murmured. Run for your life. But it just makes you into meat. Predators take the ones who run. Horror is the mind-thing, the worm of knowledge you can't stop turning over no matter how awful it is. It grows in your mind and destroys you by your own intelligence.

Memories leave a light in the eyes, just as plain as scars.

So what building are we breaking into? Give me all the information you've got and I'll hunt down the rest. By the way, when are we doing this? I glanced up. Tonight. Tonight? Oh, boy... Miracles 'R' Us. I assume that we're not going to go and ask permission for this.

I threw my arms around him. "I yearn only for you." Quinton gave a self-conscious shrug and an embarrassed laugh. "I feel the same way about you and I'm sorry I'm  .  .  . being an ass. Also, I suspect you just wanted to use 'yearn' in a sentence.

Fall?" he repeated. "Say more like flying, as if someone threw you. What  .  .  . was that?" I chewed on my words before I let them out. "I  .  .  . sometimes have little disagreements with  .  .  . um, with reality. And physics.

You must be careful, Harper. You're stubborn, hardheaded, scientific practicalist, and all of this seems like a nightmare to you that you hope will simply evaporate when you wake up. But you don't wake up from this.

Twas the night before Christmas—well, the late afternoon, in fact, but who could tell at the North Pole in the middle of winter—and Matthias the werewolf was knee-deep in reindeer guts. Really, it was the deer's own fault for having that glowing red nose that had made it ever so easy to pick him out in the gloom. There it had been, like a neon sign saying FAST FOOD and Matt being like Yellow Dog Dingo—always hungry—had taken the opportunity for a quick snack.

Lucent wisps spiraled up from the mass, forming a columned portal supporting a hot-white door. My vision clouded, like snow on a tele-a hot-white door. My vision clouded, like snow on a television screen. Vertigo gripped me.

Bodies are just leftovers, not the real event on death.

Trust isn't a gift, Cameron. You earn it, and it's not cheap.

Her amused, silent evaluation hammered my spine with spikes of frozen fire.

If some act is wrong it is simply wrong, no matter who tells you to do it or for what grand motive. It seemed to me that a true patriot and decent human being rejects doing wrong and puts the ideals on which the country is founded ahead of the directives of government bureaucrats. If the government is off the rails, you don't keep on riding the train to destruction—you certainly don't push it there on your own; you start hauling the other way as hard as you can.

He laughed, and the round, brandy-rich tones rolled over me like velvet blankets, sending an electric jolt of lust down my spine.

They were more like a type. Not so much regulars as clubbers—you know, the ones who hit the circuit every night or every Friday and make the rounds. Not really anybody's regulars and not really anybody's friends, but they're there all the time and you sort of know who they are.

There was no place to hide from a creature who stalked the edges of death itself.

Part of the corrupt charm of big cities is their acceptance of the wacky, weird, and outrageous within business as usual.

What about the motorcycle parts? Those belong to my sort-of boyfriend. He's in Italy right now, visiting his family, and I like to have the mess around to remind me of him. Oh. So that's why Dante in Italian. She blushed and looked away. No. That's why the Italian boyfriend.

My brain won't stretch to this right now. It doesn't fit!

I don't think I'm nuts, though, and I don't think you do, either, but you have to make up your own mind. Nothing works if you don't start there.

Well... they say friends help you move and good friends help you move bodies.

No matter how much of it I've seen, other people's grief leaves me feeling embarrassed, as if I've peeked through their bedroom windows.

Are you at work?" I asked. Not precisely, but that's a good suggestion.