I'll do my bit tonight, but forgive me if it's a little harder to keep going than normal. Forgive me if I'm not superwoman after all." "Not superwoman?" he exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest in mock surprise. "You've lied to me all these years!

You look wonderful", Jason said. "No compliments, Jason. I'm uncomfortable enough in the lingerie." "Then by all means take it off.

He doesn’t pretend,” the punk pixie said. He nodded toward Doyle. “Nice rings. You got anything else pierced?” “Yes,” Doyle said. The boy smiled, making the rings in the edge of his nose and his bottom lip curl cheerfully with it. “Me too,” he said.

It feels like we're in a Harry Potter book talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

I've been writing stories since I was 12. 'Writer's Digest' was one of my writing teachers, actually.

He'd kill you all right. No sweat. But for the wrong reasons. Amateur's reasons. Of course, you'll be just as dead.

Hatred is a cold fire, and it gives no warmth.