There are some experiences in life they haven't invented the right words for.

“Simon,” she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. “Simon…” “Yes?” A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible. “Please… take me to my room.” Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. “Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked.“

I want you to admit just once what you feel for me. I want to know if you'll miss me even a little. If you'll remember me. If you're sorry for anything.

A long time ago I learned not to explain things to people. It misleads them into thinking they're entitled to know everything I do. -Sara

Roy received my comments with a forced smile. "Hardy, didn't I warn you not to date a woman who reads?" Hardy seemed amused by my outspokenness. "Keeps the arguing to a minimum," he replied. "No point in trying when I know she's going to win.

I'm coming to believe that there are two kinds of people... those who choose to be masters of their own fate and those who wait in chairs while other dance. I would rather be one of the former than the latter.

I can't get it out," she said. "Just pull at it." "It hurts. It's throbbing." "Pull harder." "I can't! It's truly stuck. I need something to make it slippery. Do you have some sort of lubricant nearby?" "No." "Not anything?" "Much as it may surprise you, we've never needed lubricant in the library before now.