I don't let myself believe in writer's block. I feel very strongly writing is habit as much as an art or a craft. And if you write crap, you're still writing.

Justin turned to give her one of his cool, unsmiling looks. Butterflies fluttered in her throat. She'd be very careful, Serena decided, as if she were walking through a minefield. "What are you thinking?" "About bombs," she answered blandly, "deadly camoflaged bombs." She gave him a quick,innocent grin. "Are we going to eat soon? I'm starving.

It's Major Ketchup in the bathroom with the laser scalpel." "Hmm." He sliced a delicately herbed spear of asparagus. "Obviously we were meant for each other as I can interpret that as you meaning something more like Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick.

"Do little pink fairies sing and dance in your world, Peabody?" "Sometimes, when it's very quiet and no one else can see."

She, as no other ever could, reached every corner of his heart. His joy, and his salvation.

Couples take care of each other, Clare, that's what makes them a couple. And couples tell each other when something happens that scares them.

That has not yet been put to the test. I got my fourth-degree black belt this winter. When I make martial arts noises, thousands flee in terror. Don't test me." "Can you hear that? It's my knees knocking." "They're wise to fear me.