Quotes from Rob Thurman

Niko caught my hand and slapped it lightly down on the bar. "Pistol whipping elderly women isn't precisely our mission statement, Cal." I hadn't been going to pistol-whip her. Yell at her a little more, then pick her up and toss her out into the street. Some risk of a broken hip there, but that wasn't pistol-whipping… unless she tried to come back in.

It is now. It is always now. Now is good. Now could be the best. My name is Catcher. My name was Catcher. My name...my name... I am... I am lost, I am found and then I am free and I am happy. When I jump over that edge, someone leaps with me, shoulder to shoulder. I smell kinship on him. Kinship is all. I'm not alone. Never alone. I land, earth below me, moon above. I am wolf. We are pack. And that is all I need.

Leandros's favorite place had turned out not to be vegetarian, but vegan, which was for people who preferred their suicide slow.

He touched my little brother—I stopped his heart. It was a fair trade.

All of his life had been about making sure I kept mine.

Most kids don't believe in fairy tales very long. Once they hit six or seven they put away "Cinderella" and her shoe fetish, "The Three Little Pigs" with their violation of building codes, "Miss Muffet" and her well?shaped tuffet—all forgotten or discounted.And maybe that's the way it has to be. To survive in the world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make?believe.

Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

The fact that the bodies weren't my first concern–-pissing and bodies were, in that order—-helped too. Killers have different priorities.

And who died and made you boss?" But I knew a lost cause when I saw it and was already pulling my hair back with nimble fingers. Niko slapped a shoulder holster against my chest. "No one. Like all truly great dictators, I seized that power myself. Now finish up. We leave in five minutes.

All I cared was that she had never lied. She was honest in a world just the opposite, and a cool oasis in my life. She was who she said she was, and everything Sophia, my mother, the pathologically manipulative liar, had never been.

Wouldn't you leave a light on? Knowing what I knew and not knowing anything else at all, why would I want the darkness where the monsters hide? Because killers hide there too.

Every inner touch, every one of its fingerprints on my brain, burned like acid. It shredded the walls of my soul like tissue paper, it clawed its way into my very center, I couldn't tell anymore where it began and I ended. It poured into me like a river into the sea, mixing, melding, until we were one. One. For better or worse. Until death do us part.

Niko was a man of few words and flying, sugary snacks. I like that in a human. ~Catcher

How do you know I have a brother?" Cal wasn't playing anymore. The suspicion was real and I was already moving, the switchblade hidden in my hand. "You always do. Or a cousin or a best friend bonded by blood. Something of thet dramatic overwrought nature. Someone who is wirtually attached to you at the hip. Let me speak to him. He's invariably more reasonable.

Smote.' I haven't gotten to use that word since my days upstairs. I kind of miss it. Lots of pomp and circumstance in a word like that." He tapped his chin as the smile became sly. "Downstairs we just say slaughter or massacre or team-building exercise.

There are monsters among us. There always have been and there always will be. I've known that ever since I can remember, just like i've always known I was one.

I've always enjoyed a challenge," Niko remarked, shifting through the powder to lift something out. "I think perhaps there are other things I could enjoy instead. Bonsai trees, painting, forging my own weapons. The opportunities are endless." He opened his hand to show me the small braid of several yellowed hairs. "Voodoo." "Think it would work?" I perked up. Killing from a distance wasn't usually my thing, but in this case, I'd make an exception.

There are a lot of truths in this world. When it rains it pours. It's always darkest before the dawn. He who smelt it dealt it.

Spartacus," I called, "how's it hanging?" Probably not too well. Once you're dead, had your organs removed, and are resurrected as an undead mummified cat, your testicles probably looked like old raisins that had rolled under the couch. Raisins didn't tend to...hang.

Pick up your clothes. I am not your maid. How do I know this? A maid cannot kill you with a tube sock. I can.

It's true. Goodfellow is monogamous. he's become a freak. A pervert. Depravity on the cloven hoof." "Or his balls fell off," suggested another puck who came to the bar. "Or his dick. Anyone who would hang out with Bacchus is bound to get a catastrophic genital rotting illness at some point.

I am not sleeping with him." I shot him a poisonous glare. "If I had a bumper sticker, it would read, 'Demon slayer, not demon layer.' " "Your mouth says no, but your cleavage says yes.

The front door had been secure at some point in time, I suppose, but now it usually hung ajar by a few inches, the gap?toothed grin of a dirty old man.

Everyone has something in their life, in their world, that can break them.