Pansy," Murphy sneered. Thomas leered at her. "You make my stamen tingle when you talk like that, Sergeant.

So?" Bob said. "Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved." "Bob," I said. "You can't just go around killing people." "I know. That's why you should do it." "No, no. I can't go around killing people, either.

I lunged, low and quick, and drove about a foot of cold steel into his danglies. Hey, I don't care what kind of fearie or mortal or hideous creature you are. If you've got danglies, and can loose them, that's the kind of sight that makes you reconsider the possible genitalia-related ramifications of your actions real damned quick.

What is the point of having free will if one cannot occasionally spit in the eye of destiny?

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

We're all so damned fragile.

I'm so pretty, it's hard for me to think of myself as intelligent.