I have been writing now for over a week. I find it cleansing, refreshing; it is good for me.” (p.531)

Lift your head to me...’ His is the kiss of a timorous lover. Feel his inhuman lips on the throat, the heat of it. The bite, when it comes, is cold. Begin to sink as the blood flows into his mouth; it is almost soothing. No pain. No pain at all. His teeth grind into the muscles; ecstasy and torment. Life, the very being, is flowing out. Unholy nourishment. Holy nourishment. Drained slowly.The trauma of it feels like being torn, but it is no more than suddenly having the ability to experience reality in a different way. Waiting for the end... for what? Cannot foretell. No longer flesh, no longer blood. Soul. Free.

I found it hateful, yet I wanted to be part of it.

I felt as if something hung there in the back of my mind, waiting to tarnish whatever happiness I might find. Is it safer to be unhappy? Nothing ever wants to take that away.

He had the compassion of a vivisectionist.

The Gelaming regarded themselves as a force for good, and in many ways they were, but they were also inexorable and their compassion could often feel like oppression.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

Being a child is such a shining gift, yet we don't know how precious it is until it's worn out and gone away.

...love's shadow is jealousy.

The bloody times, the horror, will just be history to them, words on a page, so how will they dare to judge? Very easily, I should imagine.