Richelle Mead: Herring

“I sighed and stared off without any particular focus. "I miss him so much."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Will it ever get better?"
The question seemed to catch her by surprise. "I… I don't know.”

“I always love it whenever Rose delivers one of her witty one-liners—particularly when it’s a completely serious situation. The contrast always amuses me, but then, I’m biased.”

“By the way, my name's Rose Hathaway. I'm seventeen years old, training to protect and kill vampires, in love with a completely unsuitable guy, and have a best friend whose weird magic could drive her crazy.
Hey, no one said high school was easy.”

“You, know I'm the Queen's favorite great nephew, Well, yeah I'm her only great nephew, but that's not important, I'd still be her favorite…”

“If I let myself love you, I won't throw myself in front of her. I'll throw myself in front of you.”

“Yeah, that's exactly what I want. To help my girlfriend get her old boyfriend back." He turned away again, and I heard him mutter, "I needdrinks.”

“I fought against her, trying to mount some kind of defense, but it was like fighting Dimitri on crack.”

“Because it gives him and excuse to be around her--without making it look like he gave in first. That way, he can still seem manly."

"That's ridiculous." Especially the part about Christian being manly.

"Guys do ridiculous things for love.”

“Okay," I said, clasping her hand. "I swear it. The next time I do something stupid that might get me killed, you can come along.”

“Was it weird having a witch grandma? Scary? Was she always, like, threatening to cast spells if you were bad?"
"Most of the time she just threatened to send me to my room."
"That doesn't sound so scary to me."
"That's because you haven't met her.”

“about her has to do with me.”

“I didn’t care about anything except her and the way touching her drove me wild, even as her calm and steady presence soothed the storms that raged within me.”

“What happened? Did a house fall on your sister?" I asked. Maybe there was a benefit to our language barrier. She pursed her lips.
"You can't stay here much longer," she said.
My mouth dropped open.
"You… you speak English?"
She snorted. "Of course.”

“I bet you never thought the hardest part of finding your ‘saviorʹ would be getting her mom to let her stay out past curfew.”

“Ivashkov," she repeated, her face the picture of serenity. "My name is Sydney Ivashkov.”

“I stopped. She was bleeding after all. Perfect lines crossed her wrists, not near any crucial veins, but enough to leave wet red tracks across her skin. She hadn; t hit her veins when she did this; death hadn't been her goal.”

“Escape plan number seventeen," I told her. "Run away and open a juice stand in Fresno."
"Why Fresno?"
"Sounds like the kind of place people drink a lot of juice.”

“She felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet - physical pain - was the only way to make her internal pain go away. It was the only way she could control it.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. To help my girlfriend get her old boyfriend back.”