She clutched the train ticket tighter and waited for the sense of escape to come over her as it had a dozen times before, that heady sensation of having just scooted through the clanging gate, of eluding the thrown net. It didn't come. She was running again, but she wasn't escaping. She'd been chased to ground a long, long time ago.

You can figure out what the villain fears by his choice of weapons.

And enigmatic smile is worth ten pages of dialog.

You are my country, Desdemona. ... My Egypt. My hot, harrowing desert and my cool, verdant Nile, infinitely lovely and unfathomable and sustaining.

She'd stood by that creed. No softness, because the world wasn't soft; lots of laughter, because if you were in on the joke, the joke couldn't be on you; And no wanting what you couldn't take, because the world never gave. Or so she'd thought.

Conscience is like a pet: If you spoil it by too much attention it'll start yipping at the most inopportune times.

Find out what people want to do, then tell them to do it. They'll think you're a genius.