Symbiont (Parasitology, #2)

by Mira Grant

There is nothing truer in this world than the love of a good dog.

“We become entirely different people every seven years, and our minds let it happen because it’s slow, it’s graceful, and even then, we cling to childhood pleasures and high school goals like they somehow had more relevance just because they happened earlier in our developmental cycles.

Tansy had acted like a thug and reacted like a heroine, and if that wasn’t one of the best combinations I’d ever encountered, I didn’t know what was.

would be terrible to have an entire species with bellies full of mingled love and hate, anger and fear, walking around and thinking that they controlled the world.

Every human was the result of social and cultural recombination, picking up a turn of phrase here, an idea or a preconception there, the same way bacteria picked up and traded genes. Nothing was purely its own self. Nothing would ever want to be.

It was like a strange and potentially fatal math problem: if yelling at the onrushing cannibal zombies makes them stop moving, but it only works for X percent, how many times will you need to yell before safety is assured? Show your work, and don’t get eaten.

Thank you for sailing with Oceanic Apocalypse: when the world ends, we get you there anyway.”

I fell for a miracle, not a science project.”