Global warming doesn't care what's in your bank account." -Sinead Starling

Jonah peered critically up at the Renaissance masterpiece. "Man, those copies don't due it justice. This one's the truth!" "Only a Janus," groaned Hamilton.

Sinead broke in. "The cops need to know what to do with Evan, Amy. What should I tell them?" "Shoot to kill?" Ian suggested.

Jonah spoke what everyone was thinking. "Wouldn't it be Twilight Zone if the door was open, too?" Hamilton tried the knob. It didn't budge. Ian stepped forward and examined the lock. "Natalie's diary has better security than this." He produced a credit card and slipped it between the latch and the jamb. There was a click, and the door swung wide.

They crested a rise, and there it was, in the hollow between rolling hills—a low, square building, ghostly gray in the moonlight. "Is that it?" asked Hamilton. "It probably isn't the local opera house," groaned Ian.

What does it feel like to get shot?" "I don't recommend it," said Nellie in a controlled voice. "Chocolate is definitely better.

In our family, you don't get a childhood. We're too busy trying to dominate the world.