That Woman Doesn't Have The Sense God

I Got You A Present." "did You?" "it's A Book Of Poetry--romancy Stuff. I Thought, 'how Schmaltzy Is That,' So It Seemed Like The Thing. Then I Screwed Up And Left It In My Desk At Work

She Raised Her Eyes To His. They Had Both Come From Misery, She Thought, And Survived It. They Had Been Drawn Together Through Violence And Tragedy, And Had Overcome It. They Walked Different Paths And Had Found A Mutual Route. Some Things Last, She Thought. Some Ordinary Things. Like Love.

Bite Me." -lieutenant Eve Dallas, From Any Of The In Death Books.

A Writer Never Finds The Time To Write. A Writer Makes It. If You Don't Have The Drive, The Discipline, And The Desire, Then You Can Have All The Talent In The World, And You Aren't Going To Finish A Book.

So, You’re Hitting On Clare The Fair.” “i’m Not Hitting On Her. I’m Exploring The Possibility Of Seeing Her On Social Terms.” “he’s Hitting On Her,” Owen Said Around A Mouthful Of Chips. “you’ve Still Got That Thing You Had For Her Back In High School. Are You Still Writing Bad Song Lyrics About Heartbreak?” “suck Me. And They Weren’t That Bad.” “yeah, They Were,” Ryder Disagreed. “but At Least Now We Don’t Have To Listen To You Playing Your Keyboard And Howling Them Down The Hall.