“Know what? (Wulf)If halflings live past twenty-seven. But then anything is possible. I say in a few months we should pop us some Orville Redenbacher’s, then sit back and enjoy the show. (Spawn)”

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking of that stupid song, ‘Seasons in the Sun.’ You know, ‘we had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.’ Good grief, I should be a mental patient. (Cassandra)You have more strength than any warrior I have known. Don’t ever apologize to me again for those few times when you show your fear to me, Cassandra. (Wulf)”

“Since when the hell do I answer to you? I don’t even know you, hence it’s none of your damned business. (Spawn)‘Well, someone hadn’t taken his personality pills for the night.’ (Wulf)”

“You know the beauty of driving one of these? (Wulf)No. (Cassandra)You can swat a Daimon like a mosquito. (Wulf)Well, since they’re both bloodsucking insects, I say go for it. (Cassandra)”

“They had to die. They were killing innocent people. (Wulf)They were surviving, Wulf. You never had to face the choice of being dead at twenty-seven. When most people’s lives are just beginning, we are looking at a death sentence. Have you any idea what it’s like to know you can never see your children grow up? Never see your own grandchildren? My mother used to say we were spring flowers who are only meant to bloom for one season. We bring our gifts to the world and then recede to dust so that others can come after us. When our loved ones die, we immortalize them like this. I have one for my mother and the other four are my sisters. No one will ever know the beauty of my sisters’ laughter. No one will remember the kindness of my mother’s smile. In eight months, my father won’t even have enough of me left to bury. I will become scattered dust. And for what? For something my great-great-great-whatever did? I’ve been alone the whole of my life because I dare not let anyone know me. I don’t want to love for fear of leaving someone like my father behind to mourn me. I will be a vague dream, and yet here you are, Wulf Tryggvason. Viking cur who once roamed the earth raiding villages. How many people did you kill in your human lifetime while you sought treasure and fame? Were you any better than the Daimons who kill so that they can live? What makes you better than us? (Cassandra)It’s not the same thing. (Wulf)Isn’t it? You know, I went to your Web site and saw the names listed there. Kyrian of Thrace, Julian of Macedon, Valerius Magnus, Jamie Gallagher, William Jess Brady. I’ve studied history all my life and know each of those names and the terror they wrought in their day. Why is it okay for the Dark-Hunters to have immortality even though most of you were killers as humans, while we are damned at birth for things we never did? Where is the justice in this? (Cassandra)”

“Don’t, Cassandra. (Wulf)Oh, please. I just want to choke her for a few minutes. (Cassandra)”

“I’ve even delivered a few of their babies. (Wulf)Really? (Cassandra)Oh, yeah. You have to love the days before modern roads, and hospitals when I was up to my elbows in placenta. (Wulf)”