Even I don't know what you're doing, and I know everything.

I'm sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody's does, and you go on. It's how you go on that defines you.

If he’d been any other man and i'd been any other girl, I’d have called the narrowing of his heavy-lidded dark eyes lust. But he was Barrons and I was Mac, and a blossoming of lust was about as likely as orchids blooming in Antarctica

Punch me."
"Don't be absurd."
"Come on, punch me, Barrons."
"I'm not punching you."
"I said, punch--OW!"
He decked me.

Stop staring at my dick," he growled.

Oh, yes it was definitely an illusion. "Barrons loved me staring at his dick,"I informed it. "he would have been happy if I'd stared at his dick all day long, composing odes to its perfection.

Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.