“God, living people are irritating.”

“Without a word, we start to walk together down the long hall. I'm so pent up and irritated with this place; I want to kick down the closed doors and break up a prayer circle, maybe juggle the athame with a couple of candles just to see the horrified looks on their faces and hear their screams of "Sacrilege!”

“I live dangerously enough. Now what's this about condoms or tigers?”

“He says you kill ghosts for a living. Like you’re a ghostbuster or something.” “I’m not a ghostbuster.”

“I love her.” “She’s dead.” “That doesn’t mean to me what it does to other people.”

“And it's beyond my energy to explain why I don't think that four-letter word that everyone's so obsessed over and that gets everyone into so much trouble and pretty much makes everyone behave like an ass can live in a place like this. Somewhere during dry cleaning, details, and missed meals, it flakes away and what you're left with is married people with a tolerable affinity for each other. That little four-letter word can exist only in poetry, or movies of 2 to 3 hours in length. Maybe in a mini-series.This place of dull details and irksome obligations is a home only to other four-letter words, which are used much more frequently.”

“It's the wrong way. She's farther away from the door now. It occurs to me that some people only have book smarts.”