“She wanted an Angel of Music . . . an angel who would make her believe in herself at last. I'd been the Angel of Doom for the khanum. There was no reason in the world why I could not be the Angel of Music for Christine. I couldn't hope to be a man to her, I couldn't ever be a real, breathing, living man waking at her side and reaching out for her . . . But I could be her angel' -Erik”

“What about you, Ellen?' he asked. 'What does music mean to you?'It was a while before she answered. 'When I was at school... quite little still... there was a girl there who had perfect pitch and a lovely voice and she played the piano. I used to hear people talking about her.' She paused, lacing her fingers together. '"She's musical," they used to say, "Deirdre's musical," and it was as if they'd said: "She's angelic." That's how it seemed to me to be musical: to be angelic.'Isaac turned to her. 'My God, Ellen,' he said huskily, 'it is you who are angelic. If there's anyone in the world who is angelic it is you.”

“She deserved an angel, and I wanted to be hers.”

“Sunny could think of lots of reasons about why the angel was crying, but the one that felt the best to her was that the angel wept so Sunny didn’t have to.”

“She seriously looked like a fucking angel. And I wanted to be her devil.”

“Finally,” Lilith said, smiling warmly at her. “A reasonable angel.”“I’m no angel,” Eleanore quietly insisted.“Yes, you are,” said every man in the room.”