I grunted. It's something I picked up over a fifteen-year career in law enforcement. Men have managed to create a complex and utterly impenetrable secret language consisting of monosyllabic sounds and partial words—and they are apparently too thick to realize it exists. Maybe they really are from Mars. I'd been able to learn a few Martian phrases over time, and one of the useful ones was the grunt that meant "I acknowledge that I've heard what you said; please continue.

I’ve had a tense couple of days. And I’ve got to tell you, burning someone’s face off sounds like a great way to relax.

Fire isn't always an element of destruction. Classical alchemical doctrine teaches that it also has dominion over another province: change.

In the action business, when you don't want to say you ran like a mouse, you call it 'taking cover.' It's more heroic.

Maybe,” he said in a slow, rural drawl, “you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy.” “Well,” I said, “if you’re going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn’t it.

There aren't any magical words, really. Words just hold the magic.

Sometimes the only way to carry a heavy burden is to share it with another