“Love is a boomerang dripped in honey, in that it emanates from me just as surely as it will return to me. Still, I think I’d much rather wash my hands and be done with it.”

“And I don’t want you to love me enough for the both of us. I’d rather carry my own portion, thank you very much. I love you so much it consumes me.”

“If my skin wasn’t flesh, but was tinfoil, I’d probably not only be left-handed, but I’d be a leftover. I guess the real question is, Would you rather make love to me or make dinner?”

“I’d rather fall in molten lava than fall in love. But I suppose that’s just the romantic me.”

“I can’t stop it. I can’t stop Them from following me. If it was just me that the fey picked on, I’d be okay with that. But someone else always pays for my Sight. Someone else always gets hurt instead of me.” Tearing my gaze from hers, I looked out over the fields. “I’d rather be alone,” I muttered, “then to have to watch that again.”

“I would give you all my love, but I’m afraid I’d get nothing in return. And coming from you, nothing is simply much more than I want.”