“Her compact, curvaceous body was laid out like some kind of offering to a pagen god. As someone who had once been a pagen god, he knew what he was talking about . . .”

“I knew what he was saying, and I wished to God he was someone else, someone who didn't have to say things out loud.”

“She’d made her choice when he asked for her hand and she’d offered it without question. Once he touched her, she knew she was his. Afterward, he had always been there in the shadows, like a ghost who would not leave. And now the ghost had decided that he wanted her.”

“Fundamentalists offer us a "loving" God who is some kind of divine stalker.”

“Oh my God, not only is he older than the Grand Canyon, but he’s like the pope and the Fae King and the president of the United States all rolled up into one. To some ancient cultures he had been a god. He was going to hurt her so bad before he killed her so dead, and all she could think of was how hot his kiss had been in the dream and how delicate the touch of his finger was as it traced down her body.”

“Simon drove as if he knew something about physics that Einstein hadn’t thought of and God never intended. If nature abhorred a vacuum, Simon positively loathed one, and rushed to fill in the tiniest gap in the heavy flow of speeding traffic. He passed on the right, left, center, and all variations in between, and the Keble responded as if involved in some kind of blood compact with its human master.”