I’m not sorry," said Quentin. "One of them tried to take my throat away from me. With its teeth. I’m not you. I need my throat.

When Rome burned, the emperor's cats still expected to be fed on time.

Answers are bitter things, and once you get them, they’re yours and you can’t give them back. Did I want to know badly enough that I was willing to live with whatever answer she gave me?
-- Toby

Sometimes, when it seems like the pain is never going to end, I wish I’d gotten a different suite of magical talents from my mother. Like the power to avoid situations that end with me willingly jamming my arm into a door made entirely from animate, apparently angry rose briars.

There's always time for tea.

I am so tired of this gothic crap,” I muttered. “Just once, I want to meet the villain in a cheerful, brightly lit room. Possibly one with kittens.