“And as the end arrived and his breath left him he couldn’t remember or imagine ever having cared.”

“Oh God, now she couldn’t remember why she’d ever left him. She needed him. More than air or sunlight and beaches, definitely more than garlic.”

“He couldn’t wait—not one second more—and entered her with one long hard thrust. He was so careful with her, always, but this time he couldn’t be careful, couldn’t be gentle; he needed to possess her the way he needed to breathe.”

“To the Sabbath! To the Sabbath!' they cried. 'On to the Witches' Sabbath!" Up and down that narrow hall they danced, the women on each side of him, to the wildest measure he had ever imagined, yet which he dimly, dreadfully remembered, till the lamp on the wall flickered and went out, and they were left in total darkness. And the devil woke in his heart with a thousand vile suggestions and made him afraid.”

“Shit. With Qhuinn looking at him like that, he couldn’t remember his own name. Blaysox? Blacklock? Blabberfox? Who the fuck knew…”

“(He went to Tory and with one more push, his son slid into his hands. For a full minute, he couldn’t breathe as he stared at the tiniest, most perfect creature he’d ever seen in his life.) “Is it a smurf?” - Tory”