“Just because you spend a lot of time with someone doesn't mean you automatically trust them,"

I'd seen it over and over again in the human world. People willing to make situations worse only to avoid admitting an error in judgment. Not an entirely human trait apparently.

"I think it would be a great idea if we took time to focus on our strengths as individuals," I said. "Sometimes that's how you find your purpose in life. You don't always know how other people perceive you until they tell you." It was worth thinking about.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from living in a small town, it’s that everything that happens affects everyone. Maybe we’ll only feel the effect in tiny ripples instead of waves, but we’ll feel it.

“Gareth…” I wanted so desperately to tell him. If anyone refused to judge me, it would be Gareth. As a gay dead undead Scottish vampire, he understood stereotypes and the downside of ignorance all too well.

“From powerful to insecure in twenty seconds flat,” Gareth mused. “I suppose it’s a skill somewhere.”

“I’m in the mood to be led astray,” Begonia said brightly. “Let’s go now before the feeling wears off.”

“Do I need to send for a hangover potion?” Althea asked, poking her head in the doorway. “You look like Death ran over you and then backed up and did it again, just to be sure.”

When a werewolf with as much testosterone as Buck keeps his distance, you know you’re not looking your best.

In my experience, if you were going to complain about something, it was best to offer an alternative or a solution. Those complaints always seemed to be the most effective.

“What fear?” I asked. “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.” “Who fed you that minotaur shit?” she shot back. “There are loads of things to be afraid of.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Snakes, being buried alive, a huge, unexpected tax bill, an enchantress with a grudge. The list goes on. What are you, Emma Hart, afraid of?”

"I assure you, not all the books in here are romances, but a healthy portion of them are. I, for one, get swept away by a good love story."

Would it help if I pooped on her head? Sedgwick asked. I looked over my shoulder to where my familiar sat on his perch. "The petty part of me says please do, but everyone will know you did it for me." It's the thought that counts, Sedgwick said.

“Ready?” Astrid asked. “Never, but that doesn’t seem to stop me from moving forward.”