“[s]he was a compulsive pessimist, always looking for the soft brown spot in the fruit, pressing so hard she created it.”

“The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”

“I laughed. “You’re too young to be so … pessimistic,” I said, using the English word.“Pessi-what?”“Pessimistic. It means looking only at the dark side of things.”“Pessimistic … pessimistic …” She repeated the English to herself over and over, and then she looked up at me with a fierce glare. “I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.”

“With the weight of his body, he pressed her back against the wall, and licked the soft spot below her earlobe. "Tell me how much you f***ing want me," he breathed.”

“My captivity with Dimitri. The way his mouth—so, so warm, despite his cold skin—had kissed mine. The feel of his fangs pressing into my neck and the sweet bliss that followed...He looked exactly the same too, with that chalky white pallor and red-ringed eyes that so conflicted with the soft, chin-length brown hair and otherwise gorgeous lines of his face. He even had a leather duster on.”

“he was home on his own and listening to the sort of music he needed to listen to when he felt like this, music that seemed to find the sore spot in him and press up hard against it...”