“This Santa's beard was real, and so was his hair. He wasn't fucking around.”

“But Father Time is real. And, in truth, he cannot age. Beneath the unruly beard and cascading hair—signs of life, not death—his body is lean, his skin unwrinkled, immune to the very thing he lords over.”

“I thought you said he was your twin?”“Under that hair and beard, he is.”

“Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and scratched his beard. 'Shouldn'ta lost me temper,' he said ruefully, 'but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do.”

“For all the times he'd fucked me, he'd never fucked me like this. Because this wasn't fucking.It was in his eyes, in his touch, in his kiss. It was in his heartbeat, pulsing against my chest and inside me. It was how he moaned my name, it was how he murmured and pleaded, and it was how his fingers dug into my skin. It wasn't fucking. It was emotion and pure need…He was making love to me.”

“there's no such thing as a fuck cure. a fuck cure is like the adult version of santa claus”