I'm not holding you against your will; I'm holding you against your car.

Death isn't peaceful; it is just nothing. Everything is gone. No more sunrises, no more hopes, no more fears. Nothing.

Women were always complications, bless their perverse little hearts.

I thought you were a drunk." "A drunk?" "Bloodshot eyes, dirty clothes, getting home in the wee hours of the morning, making a lot of noise, grouchy all the time as if you had a hangover… what else was I to think?" He rubbed his face. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I should have showered, shaved, and dressed in a suit before I came out to tell you that you were making enough noise to raise the dead.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free.

Hormones were as potent as whiskey, and twice as sneaky.

A village somewhere was missing it's idiot.