Yes, Max, you are going to die. Just like everybody else. Thank you, Confucious.

I recommend you stick to your own species, Shy Babe." p. 155

I whirled around and saw no one. No psychotic mad scientists, anyway. "Jackpot, Max! Jackpot!" It was was Fang, and he was giggling hysterically. For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn't giggle. Especially hysterically. So for a second, this seemed like one of the weirder dreams of recent days.

Call me crazy, but there's just something cheering about seeing huge raptors tear into Eraser flesh.

Have you guys been playing in toxic waste again?" Fang asked severely, putting his hands on his hips. Nudge giggled. "No." "Been bitten by a radioactive spider?" Fang went on. "Struck by lightning? Drink a super-soldier serum?" "No, no, no," said Iggy. He started reaching for things around the table, and his hand landed on Total. "You're black." "I prefer canine-American." said Total. "When's that pie coming? I'm starving.

The hardest part about parenting is when I have to be The Dad--aka the Fun-Sucker--as opposed to being a friend.

The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is tha life actually goes on.