Quotes by Kelly Creagh

So. [Isobel] cleared her throat. What are we doing?We, [Varen] said at last, are doing a project on Poe.Didnt he marry his cousin or something?The man is a literary god and thats all you have to say?

Youre a dream. Like everything else.

Death always wins.

I keep telling myselfThat you’rejust a girl.Another leaf blown across my pathDestined to pass onAnd shrivel into yourselfLike all the others.Yet despite my venomYou refuse to witherOr fade.You remain golden throughout,And in your gaze I am left to wonder if it is me aloneWho feels the fall.

Isobel moved farther into the kitchen, not knowing whether to be relieved that her mother hadnt had an atomic meltdown, or mortified that shed taken it upon herself to play head chef with the nearest thing Trenton High had to a Dark Lord.

Not anymore, though, he said. And I guess thats the one perk of loving a dead girl. She never changes.

It is naught but pain and regret when we think of the things and people we will never have, the opportunities we may never get. But to pine for those we have had and loved and once held but will never clasp again, it is torture of an unbearable degree. It is the worst pain possible. Enough to drive you away from yourself...

You were dropped as a child, werent you? Varen asked her.Maybe once or twice, Gwen said, but at least I wasnt raised by highly literate vampires who, every night just before bed, fed me a steady diet of dark sarcasm and gothic horror fiction.Every morning before bed, Varen corrected. Stepping forward, he moved toward the headstone. We slept during the day.

As though sensing her heightening alarm, Pinfeathers halted his advance.I can’t help it that I’m susceptible to you, he whispered. You know that. It’s just that you’re so...unreal...and so I have to touch you. If only to be certain that I’m not the one who’s dreaming. You see, I hear that sort of thing is going around.

Isobel had entrusted the note to Gwen just before Baltimore. And the small scrap of paper still remained her only tangible evidence that Varen had loved her.Expect...he didnt anymore.

You loved her, Isobel

You yourself could be nothing more than a shadow, someone else’s dream who is, themselves, someone else’s.

Though Isobel could recall only a few specifics regrading the appearance of Poes wife-a handful of vague characteristics picked up during her study with Varen, retained from the one or two glimpses shed had for her portraits- Scrimshaw, it seemed, had forgotten nothing.

The more this guy talked, the more he sounded like a fortune cookie.

Her fingertips reached to trace the damage, but he grasped her hand with his own. He leaned down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushed feather-light against her face, caught in her lashes.

Lady Ligeia, he began again, is a woman in the literature who returns from the dead, taking over another womans body to be with her true love.Oh, yes. Lovely Isobel blanched. I guess the other chick didnt mind at all?

Despite all the dark armor, the kohl liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She’d peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

She never answered. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, reaching toward him with her gaze alone, pulling him to drown in the sorrow of those depthless black pools.

Can I tell you something? He tilted his head, moving in closer still, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek. Do you want to know what my grandma used to say about kisses on the forehead?He pressed his lips to her brow, holding the silk soft kiss for a long moment while Isobel stood in place, unable to bring herself to shove him away.She told me it’s the kind of kiss we save for the dead.

Side by side well fight the tide,That sweeps in to take us down.Hand in hand well both withstand,Even as we drown.