The surge of his ardour swept through him in climatic release, filling her womb with his final, mortal sowing.

I can see the cracks in society, in people, in this world and I'd rather die before slipping into one of them.

The demon of revenge had already taken hold of his heart. The cancer of injustice had already eaten at his cheerful soul, leaving a skeleton of a carcass behind, one that could never feel compassion for humans—or anything else—again.

Hope had only revealed herself to him when he was immersed in darkness

Everyone has a monster inside

Like the moon shining bright Up high with all its grace,I can only show you at night And hide half of my face.

You killed me.” My voice was unsteady.He held me close again. “I brought you back.”“Please tell me we only have to do that once.”He whispered against my ear, “I swear I won’t kill you again. Cross my heart and hope to die.” It was a bad joke

My mama always said, You can always ask. The worst they can do is say no. But I don’t think Mama was thinking about revenge and murder when she dealt out that piece of homespun advice

Don’t worry about paying me. Stay alive, child. You must save yourself. And, whatever you do, don’t forget who you are

I felt absolutely nothing, and that frightened me even more than the darkness of oblivion

Nothing is whole, not for too damned long. The world is half night.

Writing on dark themes is not as easy as one might think; you have to live the worst and the most terrifying nightmares, again and again, till they consume you entirely and become an inseparable part of you that you start dreading.

Most people assume I write at night because of the kind of books I write, but I can shut out the light with my mind.

She was my black rose, a broken angel I could hug and drift away with into peaceful oblivion.

And I've learned to hit the brakes at these kinds of stop signs rather than t-boning a tanker truck filled with 200 proof mediocrity.

The Captain, so close as he was, didn’t warrant their attention. Even a fly on a horse’s hindquarters gets a tail whip. And that is the thick of it. We are less than flies to these foul foes.

Famine was a dirty bitch with rotten fangs, but the hunger she put in a belly bit sharp nonetheless.

Now that's a ghastly moon, not ghostly.

Jane sneezed three hundred dollars' worth of coke into the air.Krishna's black eyes seem to have mirrors in them. She glances at me with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat's.

Why, oh why was I standing entranced when I should have been releasing my inner she wolf on his arse?

My name is one best whispered in terror in a dark corner.

We were just us, broken and bruised, fucked-up and messy, and together we were everything we never thought we could be.

I fell asleep that night in the arms of a killer. I'd never slept better.

We are all a little damaged, Bee. Some of us more than others.

Sick, twisted Abby was in love with the sick, twisted, beautiful Jake.

I need to know if you would like it if I put him to ground for you.

For the first time in a long time a bit of something I was unfamiliar with crept up inside me.If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought it was hope.

Why do you want to touch me? I'm nothing. I'm no one.

He thrust into me as if he were trying to climb into my soul.

Around eighth grade Margot started getting really sensitive about her weight, even though she wasn’t remotely fat—just a little round-faced. So Margot did what any normal fourteen-year-old girl would do. She started puking on purpose, every day after fifth period. Of course now, she does more than puke. But we don’t talk about that. Because real friends don’t judge each other for what they do to survive in hell.

St John from the book of The Revelation “He also forced everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand or on his forehead, so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark.