Since no one is perfect, it follows that all great deeds have been accomplished out of imperfection. Yet they were accomplished, somehow, all the same.

Mia Maz glanced aside in concern at his muffled snort. "Are you all right?" "Yes. Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just having an attack of limericks." Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip; only her deepening dimple betrayed her. "Shhh," she said, with feeling.

Some men just aren't cut out for paternity. Better they should realize it before and not after they become responsible for a son.

As the week wore on, Ivan contemplated the merits of inertia as a problem-solving technique with growing favor

I take it as a man's duty to restrain himself.

I don't confuse greatness with perfection. To be great anyhow is the higher achievement.

The rule for finding plots for character-centered novels, which is to ask: 'So what's the worst possible thing I can do to *this* guy?' And then do it.