“I don’t know where dreams come from. Sometimes I wonder if they’re genetic memories, or messages from something divine. Warnings perhaps. Maybe we do come with an instruction booklet but we’re too dense to read it, because we’ve dismissed it as the irrational waste product of the ‘rational’ mind. Sometimes I think all the answers we need are buried in our slumbering subconscious, int he dreaming. The booklet right there, and ever night when we lay our heads down on the pillow it flips open. The wise read it, heed it. The rest of us try as hard as we can upon awakening to forget any disturbing revelations we might have found there.”

“The most confused we ever get is when we're trying to convince our heads of something our heart knows is a lie.”

“So what's the big picture about our lust for sex?We're not trying to acquire something. We want to feel something: Alive. Electrically, intensely, blazingly alive. Good. Bad. Pleasure. Pain. Bring it on--all of it. For people who live small, I guess enough of that can be found in sex. But for those of us who live large, the most alive we ever feel is when we're punching air with a fist, uncurling our middle finger with a cool smile, and flipping Death the big old bird.”

“I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beating, solid and sure.....he reads me so well. He's known about my emotional empathy since we were children. Nothing disturbs him...Few can lie to me... I don't know the truth, only that there is a lie. It takes a scrupulously honest man to love me. That's my Sean. We learned to trust each other completely before we were old enough to have learned suspicion.”

“Our sex is fierce. We will both be bruised. "I want it to always be like this," I tell him. "Try holding onto that thought." "I do not need to try. I will never feel differently." His laughter is as dark and cold as the place of which I dream, "One day you will wonder if it's possible to hate me more.”

“We see ourselves in other people’s eyes. It’s the nature of the human race; we are a species of reflection, hungry for it in every facet of our existence. Maybe that’s why vampires seem so monstrous to us—they cast no reflection. Parents, if they’re good ones, reflect the wonder of our existence and the success we can become. Friends, well chosen, show us pretty pictures of ourselves, and encourage us to grow into them.The Beast shows us the very worst in ourselves and makes us know it’s true .”

“I respect you more than that." I almost fell off the couch. I parted my hair and looked up at him, but he was no longer squatting in front of me. He'd stood and moved away. "Are we, like, having a conversation?" "Did you just, like, ask me for advice and listen with an open mind? Is so, then yes, I would call this a conversation. I can see how you might not recognize it, considering all I usually get from you is attitude and hostility-" "Oh! All I ever get from you is hostility and-" "And here we go. She's bristling and my hackles go up. Bloody hell, I feel fangs coming on.”