“Styles differ, but the faces remain”

“And what exactly is it that you do?""I do pretty much what the name implies. I shoot trouble.”

“How is that cut doing?" His tone had the perfect degree of unconcerned concern."Don't worry, my trigger finger is just fine.”

“In hoc signo vinces.”

“The woman's face was like a stone tablet, as if the president of the chess club had wandered over to the Goth corner of the schoolyard and asked to touch a tongue piercing.”

“Lift your head to me...’ His is the kiss of a timorous lover. Feel his inhuman lips on the throat, the heat of it. The bite, when it comes, is cold. Begin to sink as the blood flows into his mouth; it is almost soothing. No pain. No pain at all. His teeth grind into the muscles; ecstasy and torment. Life, the very being, is flowing out. Unholy nourishment. Holy nourishment. Drained slowly.The trauma of it feels like being torn, but it is no more than suddenly having the ability to experience reality in a different way. Waiting for the end... for what? Cannot foretell. No longer flesh, no longer blood. Soul. Free.”

“Mostly I’m a thinker, a worrier … it’s not that there’s no free spirit in me. But it’s a free spirit with a five-year plan”