"God’s acre, they call it. A burial ground. A graveyard. A necropolis. A place where stone rises in jagged memorial."

"The first thing I remembered was the color of the bike. Not who hit me, or where I was, or why I was there."

"Last night I had fish for dinner and nightmares all night. I tossed and turned, dreaming of the devil’s fingers that reportedly had started growing in the forest nearby."

"The last thing she says, like there hasn’t already been enough crud rubbed in my face, is 'Glory, you were such a lion when I met you.'"