No way. I'm not going in there. I draw the line at grave-robbing, Barrons. It's not your pen.

Even now, my back was still arched with sensual invitation, my bottom was questing up like a cat in heat, and my every move was supple, sinuous. I was one great big come-hither.

You need me as much as I need you. That makes us equal partners in my book. Well, your book is just wrong.

Lies are horny little buggers, they breed like rabbits and bound around just as insanely and then you have to try to keep track of them.

I miss her. I don't know how to live without her. There is a hole inside me that nothing fills. If you don't find something to fill that hole, someone else will. And if someone else fills it, they own you. Forever. You'll never get yourself back.

I hope when I'm ninety-five the only things I want are free: love, family, a good home-cooked meal.

What is the greater good but tyranny’s chameleon?