“That’s crazy-rare.” “And now it’s extinct.”

“That’s not true. I love you more than my life, Pigeon,” he said, hurt.“That’s exactly what I mean. That’s crazy talk.”“It’s not crazy. It’s the truth.”

“People who are crazy rarely question whether they're crazy.”

“You’re hurt,” she commented. And I care? Okay. It’s official. I’m my own species now: pathetic-deathwish-osaurus…I sooo hear extinction calling me.”

“Extinction, that’s where it’s going, that’s where we’re headed. And we’re going that way because we’re all so fucking afraid of it. We’re so afraid of dying off that we’re setting ourselves up for exactly that. Keeping away from each other, rarely making eye contact with those we don’t already know. Not helping when folks need help. Avoiding confrontation and staying away when we see anything which might instill fear. Doing our best to stay out of trouble, while in effect creating more trouble.”

“There’s such a thing as being irritatingly ethical,” said Eldric. “That’s you, right now.” That’s a pleasant change. Witches are rarely accused of being irritatingly ethical.“I’ve swigged.” I handed the bottle to Eldric. “Or is it swug?” “Swug,” said Eldric. “It is in bad-boy circles, at least.” He swug. “It tastes much better outside church.” “It’s the picnic principle,” I said. “Things taste better outdoors. And if it’s a forbidden thing, so much the better.”