When I was painting, I was painting stories I was telling myself. When I look back at it, moving to writing was a very natural progression for me.

How many times have I told you not to hit people in the face. You kick them in the body where it doesn't show.

I took all of my rejection letters - there must have been thousands of them in a huge box - and I went out on the curb and burned them all, crying.

As Stephanie and Lula were going after the bad guys, Lula was making preparations from the trunk of her Firebird. Stephanie looked inside and stopped breathing for a beat. "That's a rocket launcher!" "Yep," Lula said. "It's a big boy. I got it at a yard sale in the projects.

I like my nuts," Mooner said. "I don't want them cut off. I'd be, like, nutless then.

It was Lorraine in her nightie and Mo in his cap. They'd just settled their brains for a long winter's nap in front of the television. When out in the lot there arose such a clatter, they sprang from their recliners to see what was the matter. Away to the window they flew like a flash, tore open the blinds and threw up the sash. And what to their wondering eyes should appear, but Stephanie Plum and yet another of her cars burning front to rear.

Aren't you something," Grandma said. "I never saw a midget up close." "Little person," Briggs said. "And I never saw anyone as old as you up close, either.