You've got nothing to worry about. The righteous do not always right, but their souls remain pure. -Lassiter the Angel
After a moment, Wrath turned to John. "This is Lassiter, the fallen angel. One of the last times he was here on earth, there was a plague in central Europe-" "Okay, that was so not my fault-" "-which wiped out two-thirds of the human population." "I'd like to remind you that you don't like humans." "They smell bad when they're dead." "All you mortal types do.
...Bringing the very heavens close enough to touch. It was Zsadist. His eyes closed, his head back, his mouth wide open, he sang. The scarred one, the souless one, had the voice of an angel.
I'm an angel not a frickin' saint.
Blay was the closest thing to an angel Qhuinn had ever come near.
If the Angels won, the entire Earth would be nothing but one giant Christmas frickin' morning, a choking wave of happiness and warmth and caring and sharing taking over everything.
Lassiter came in alone, likely because Doc Jane had returned to the Pit. And the angel was naked as a jaybird… and just frickin’ fine. No bullet holes, no scars, no contusions. “You keep looking at me like that and you’d better buy me dinner afterward.
Can you drive any faster?" Tohr demanded. "I got the pedal to the medal" The angel looked back. "And I don't care what I have to mow over
The one good thing about the Angels was they always colored within the lines. They had to. Suckers.
Without time,” the angel said, “you have only the bottomless, shapeless mire of eternity.” “FYI, philosophy bores me.” “Not philosophy. Reality. Time is what gives life significance.
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