Without hope, love dies and parts of you wither.

Is death such a high price to pay, when you will die anyway?

You're up to something," I said. He turned, eyes wide, long fingers pressed to his heart. "Moi?" "Yeah, you.

Maybe they know what I know, that the true way to a man's heart is six inches of metal between his ribs. Sometimes four inches will do the job, but to be really sure, I like to have six.

No. But then the American Government--whatever branch--has never really grasped the concept of tribal identity.

I didn't want to understand. Bert had been thrilled that the police wanted to put me on retainer. He told me I would gain valuable experience working with the police. All I had gained so far was a wider variety of nightmares.

I tended to be hard on the egos of a certain kind of men. The ones who normally swept women off their feet had never moved me much, because I'd always felt that if they swept me off my feet they'd practiced on a lot of women before me, and would practice more with women after me. I'd rarely been wrong on that. ~Anita Blake