Carly Tebbutt

“I had an accident."

"That seemes to happen a lot."

"It wasn't my fault."

"It never is."

"I just have bad luck."

"Or you're just trouble."

"You got a problem with that?"

"No problem at all."

"Oh my God! Are you going to help or not?”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Angeline’s gaze swiveled to Zoe.
“Why didn’t you have us pick up
something?”
“Because that’s not my job!” Zoe
lifted her head up high. “We’re here to
keep Jill’s cover and make sure she stays off the radar. It’s not my job to
feed you guys.”
“In which sense?” I asked. I knew
perfectly well that was a mean thing to
say to her but couldn’t resist. It took her a moment to pick up the double meaning.
First she paled; then she turned an angry red.
“Neither! I’m not your concierge.
Neither is Sydney. I don’t know why she
always takes care of that stuff for you.
She should only be dealing with things
that are essential for your survival.
Ordering pizza isn’t one of them.”
I faked a yawn and leaned back into
the couch. “Maybe she figures if we’re
well fed, you two won’t look that
appetizing.”
Zoe was too horrified to respond,
and Eddie shot me a withering look.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Did you know that it's a lot harder to put organs back in the body than it is to get them out?”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart

“Even now, despite Angeline's watchfulness, she'd occasionally oscillate between random topics, like how shepherd's pie wasn't a pie at all and why it was pointless for her to take class in typing when technology would eventually develop robot companions to do it for us.”
― Richelle Mead, The Fiery Heart