I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.

She couldn't tell where his pupils ended and the irises began; looking into those eyes was like looking into a well where children had drowned.

I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.

You have attained maturity; display it for us, if you please.

They weren't moving. Perhaps I was dazzling then with my ineptitude. It had happened before.

Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.

Never let your fiend off his leash unless there's lots of room to run (and no people around).