Richard Kadrey

Let me make sure I have this straight. The cavalry just now rode into town and it's a Czech Gypsy porn-star zombie killer. Have I got that right?

Don't drink too much.""When I can spell out your name in shot glasses, I'll stop.""I'll have to get a shorter name.""I'll have to forget how to spell it.

The dead think they can get away with anything because you'll feel sorry for them. If you play cards with the dead, make sure you deal and don't let them buy you drinks. They'll slip you a formaldehyde roofie and pry the gold fillings out of your teeth.

Don't talk. Kill it."That might be the sweetest thing a woman's ever said to me on a first date.

*For eleven years, I've been worked over and abused in ways you can't imagine by things you don't want to know about. I've killed every kind of vile, black-souled, dead-eyed nightmare that ever made you piss your pjs and cry for mommy in the middle of the night. I kill monsters and, if I wanted, I could say a word and burn you to powder from the inside out. I can tear any human you ever met to rages with my bare hands. Give me one good reason why I could possibly need you?*She looks straight at me, not blinking. No fear in her eyes.*Because you might be the Tasmanian Devil and the Angel of Death all rolled into one, but you don't even know how to get a phone.*I hate to admit it, but she has a point.

Nothing nice happens to murdered women.

It's more like how some people can't help but bring out the not necessarily righteous parts of your personality. Like how you meet someone and instantly know they're a full-time professional victim, and no matter how hard you try, something takes over and you can't help needling them.

Hell didn't make me a monster. It just confirmed all my worst fears about myself.

If you ever need to confirm that a girl is worth coming back from Hell for, show her your monster arm and see what she says.