The dead person is not truly dead until the last person who rememebers them dies.

I gave up on cussing - I'd run out of words filthy enough - and just started praying.

You know how sometimes you can be going along and do something or say something, and suddenly you *know* yourself? I mean, it's like you're looking at somebody else, and it's just so fucking clear you want to hit something.

'So what happens next?' 'Everybody dies, and the people who don't get married.' 'Like any other story, then.'

The ritual worked. That is the most ghastly thing. I hold no particular brief for the rationality of the world, but that this vile obscenity should actually have the power to bring back the dead seems to me not merely a sign that the world is not rational, but that it is in fact entirely insane, a murderous lunatic gibbering in the corner of a padded cell.

'You like jealousy. You like knowing people want you.' He wasn't talking about sex, and my heart slowed a little. 'Is it not natural to want to be liked?' 'That ain't what you want. It's like you got to have everybody's heart, and if they don't give it, you rip it out and watch it bleed.'