Oblivion

“You were dropped as a child, weren’t you?” Varen asked her.
“Maybe once or twice,” Gwen said, “but at least I wasn’t raised by highly literate vampires who, every night just before bed, fed me a steady diet of dark sarcasm and gothic horror fiction.”

“But then, you do possess a certain knack for impelling lovesick wretches to ruin, don’t you?”

LIVED FOR LOVE, YET PERISHED BY ITS HAND

“Darkness will win,” she said. “It has to. So long as you try to fight fire with fire.”
“Sometimes,” he said, speaking in that quiet and contained way that always frightened her, “fire is the only way to fight.”

“Darkness devours because it must. And so there is no escape.”

“When the light at last dies, as it always dies, darkness will devour. Be it that darkness which is your own or someone else’s.”

“I mean, don’t you think it’s at all romantic, the idea that love could conquer death?”

“Memories make better weapons than words.”

“Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in life? We’ve all got a part to play. Someone’s gotta be the bad guy.”

“And I guess that’s the one perk of loving a dead girl. She never changes.”