“She snorted. “Talking doesn’t leave my kitchen six inches underwater. Talking doesn’t leave two full-grown demons soaking wet. Unless you were both pretending to be mermaids trying to perfect freshwater communication in my sink, I fail to see how talking had anything to do with whatever you two were up to.”

“Life after love was possible. I was proof. Loss taught you about yourself, burrowed in the dark parts of your soul and ate you from the inside out.”

“Forgive me, Old One." Vaughn stifled a yawn. "Is there a point to this bedtime story?"Rhys picked up the fork from Vaughn's plate and drove it into his brother's thigh. "There. I've made four points for him.”

“Oh, I can't talk to you the way I've wanted to; I've been tellin' lies but I'll tell you the truth.Darling, I'm tired and I should be leaving, leaving. You know I'm tired and I should be leaving, leaving tonight.”

“Resolved, never to do anything which I should be afraid to do if it were the last hour of my life.”

“My relationship had ended and Red had taken my son. My life was my own and I could do anything I wanted, yet I felt nothing. As I stood staring at the walls, searching inside myself for some kind of emotional response, the nothingness suddenly welled up inside me, like a physical mass, so vast and empty and infinite I was terrified. The very first time I went running, it was from that terror, from the possibility of being sucked down into emptiness for ever, and as I ran I discovered I was able to feel; pressure in my lungs, pain in my legs, my skin perspiring, the pounding of my heart.My routine was erratic, I ran when I felt like it, usually five or six times a month. So was my style. It was nothing like that of the runners I grew accustomed to seeing, the ones who regulated themselves, jogged two or three times a week, who did a warm-up first and stretching exercises afterwards, the people for whom the activity was a hobby. I ran like my life depended on it, as fast and as hard as I could. Sometimes, passers-by would look beyond me as I ran towards them, with fear in their eyes, trying to see who or what was pursuing me, trying to work out whether they should be running too. As long as I was feeling, I didn’t care.”

“People say to the mentally ill, ‘You know so many people think the world of you.’ But when they don’t like themselves they don’t notice anything. They don’t care about what people think of them. When you hate yourself, whatever people say it doesn’t make sense. ‘Why do they like me? Why do they care about me?’ Because you don’t care about yourself at all.”