“Grief, he said, is carnivorous.”
“He burst into the house and ate Grandma, an entirely valid course of action for a carnivore such as himself.”
“The wolf is carnivore incarnate and he's as cunning as he is ferocious; once he's had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.”
“He frowns. "A dance with the carnivorous Felicity? Why? Has she eaten all the other available gentlemen?”
“We all have our sorrows, and although the exact delinaments, weight and dimensions of grief are different for everyone, the color of grief is common to us all. I know, he said, because he was human, and therefore, in a way, he did.”
“My body is a carnivorous flower, a poisonous houseplant, a loaded gun with a million triggers and he's more than ready to fire.”