“That’s great, Grace, but in case you’ve forgotten, we’re supposed to kill vampires, not play nice and have lunch with them. - Archer”

“…Then it hits me.Maybe we’re the pieces,What?Maybe that’s it. With what you were talking about before. The world being broken. Maybe it isn’t that we’re supposed to find the pieces and put them back together. Maybe we’re the pieces. Maybe, what we’re supposed to do is come together. That’s how we stop the breaking.Tikkun olam.”

“We’re freaks, that’s all. Those two bastards got us nice and early and made us into freaks with freakish standards, that’s all. We’re the tattooed lady, and we’re never going to have a minute’s peace, the rest of our lives, until everybody else is tattooed, too.”

“How do you kill a vampire? "Silver bullets?”“That’s werewolves.”“Cloves of garlic?”“That’s French bread.”

“Getting a rejection letter from a place you’ve been thinking about is bad enough, but how shitty do I feel getting a rejection letter from some place I don’t even remember applying to? That’s like a homeless person walking up to me and saying, “You don’t know me, but in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a loser.”

“There’s not a stone or leaf or life that men won’t put a name to. It gives them a nice safe box to collect things in. They get in the habit of collecting things and end up surprised at the weight they’re carrying. A dream they thought might fit someday, something bright and sweet like a woman, picked up for her shine and somehow never left or at least never forgotten. Or an ambition! There’s a fine item in any man’s bag. A great, glowing ambition. They never fade, never wear even when you’ve outgrown them. Always there to look at and remember and play might-have-been.”