“I don’t want to date her; I just want to be around her. She’s…different.”“Different how?” America asked, sounding irritated.“She doesn’t put up with my bullshit, it’s refreshing. You said it yourself, Mare. I’m not her type. It’s just not…like that with us.”“You’re closer to her type than you know,” America said.”

“Dixon Steele: You know, when you first walked into the police station, I said to myself, “There she is — the one that’s different. She’s not coy or cute or corny. She’s a good guy — I’m glad she’s on my side. She speaks her mind and she knows what she wants.”Laurel Gray: Thank you, sir. But let me add: I also know what I don’t want — and I don’t want to be rushed.”

“I was in America, someone wanted a photo with me, I put my arm around her and she told me not to touch her.”

“I’m not going to pick her up and carry her screaming to the basement,” Trent said. “It’s a workday. Besides, she has a crutch.” “Crutch or no, she’s hurt!” Ceri protested. “I mean,” Trent said intently, “she can hit me with it if I do something she doesn’t like.”

“She’s forgotten me. It’s over. I don’t want to see her again, and now I’ll have to. I won’t be able to help it. I’ll have to sit back and just watch her…live. Without me.” The ifrit shrugs. “Then I overestimated your feelings for her.” My jaw drops. “How dare you? Because I don’t want to see that she’s forgotten me?”"No. Because nothing is really ever gone or forgotten. If she’s a piece of you, and you of her, then memory is merely an obstacle—our power covers the memory, it doesn’t erase it. And I should think, at least based on what I saw in your eyes last night, that it’s an obstacle worth going up against.”

“I know it’s going to be bad for you, Jacob. I understand that—maybe better than you think. I don’t like her, but… she’s your Sam. She’s everything you want and everything you can’t have.”