“Cáel sighed. “Look, right now? Either you want Rose, or you don’t. If you do—and, quite frankly, it’s obvious to me that you do—then give the woman a break and give yourself some credit for not being a whack job. Women are strange creatures, Gray, and she isn’t a mind reader. Who the hell knows what kind of conclusions she’s drawn over your behavior? Shit or get off the pot.”It was a good thing Gray wasn’t drinking anything, or he’d have choked on that one. “That’s your advice on love? ‘Shit or get off the pot’?”

“SHIT, OR GET OFF THE POT”

“Look who's calling the cauldron black.""Kettle. It’s a kettle. Get your metaphors right.""That wasn’t a metaphor. It was a, you know..." He stared off into space, blinking. "One of those things that’s symbolic of another thing. But isn’t the same thing. Just like it.""You mean a metaphor?""No! It’s like a story...like...a proverb! That’s it.""I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a proverb. Maybe it was an analogy.""I don’t think so.”

“your life isn’t out there waiting, so don’t think all you have to do is find it and get it. no, your life is right here. and, yeah, it sucks. lives usually do. so if you want things to change, you don’t need to get a life. you need to get off your ass.”

“That’s the funny thing about these collars … Most men put them on women they plan to regularly fuck the shit out of.”His lips twitched. “I put them on women who get off on having me fuck the shit out of them however, wherever and whenever I want.”… “But you think that isn’t me.”

“Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’I sat up a fraction. ‘What?’‘Is that dog shit on the bottom of your shoe?’‘I don’t know, the lab report’s not back yet,’ I replied drily.‘I’m serious, is that dog shit?’‘How should I know?’Katz leaned far enough forward to give it a good look and a cautious sniff. ‘It is dog shit,’ he announced with an odd tone of satisfaction.‘Well, keep quiet about it or everybody’ll want some.’‘Go and clean it off, will ya? It’s making me nauseous.’And here the bickering started, in intense little whispers.‘You go and clean it off.’‘It’s your shoes.’‘Well, I kind of like it. Besides, it kills the smell of this guy next to me.’‘Well, it’s making me nauseous.’‘Well, I don’t give a shit.’‘Well, I think you’re a fuck-head.’‘Oh, you do, do you?’‘Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve been a fuck-head since Austria.’‘Well, you’ve been a fuck-head since birth.’‘Me?’ A wounded look. ‘That’s rich. You were a fuck-head in the womb, Bryson. You’ve got three kinds of chromosomes: X, Y and fuck-head.”