“Thievery is a time-honored profession, my girl. Not to be confused with these hooligans who mug people on the street, or bloodthirsty klutzes who burst into banks, guns blazing. We’re discriminating. We’re romantic.” His voice rose in passion. “We’re artists”

“When we fall that first time, we’re not really inlove with the girl. We’re in love with being in love. We’ve got no idea what she’s really about—or what she’s capable of. We’re in love with our idea of her andof who we become around her. We’re idiots.”

“Who we’re told to be carries the weight of history behind it. We may not like it but we better know it. Who we’re told to be is no accident, but rather a purposeful construction of centuries of accumulated fear. Who we’re told to be can be deliberately deconstructed.”

“We’re all artists. It’s just most people keep their inner artist locked behind their rib cage.”

“We’re more than common rock,” he murmured. “We’re pretty nigh indestructible when we’re in our stone forms.”I thought this over. “Then why didn’t they pick you up and throw you into the sea?”He sent me a dark look. “You’re a bloodthirsty lass, aren’t you?”

“Catcher snorted. “If we’re not playing naked Twister, we’re wasting our waking hours.”“Yep,” Mallory said as she tugged him down the sidewalk, “that’s the love of my life. He’s a romantic at heart.”