Every writer needs an editor. I don't care how good you are or think you are.

What do you think? Does everything look right? " " You really expect me to look at anything but you? " She laughed even as her pulse jittered. " Boy, I must be in bad shape when a shopworn line like that hits the mark. " " I mean it, " he said and watched her smile fade. " I adore looking at you. " Laying a hand on her knees with a long, slow, thorough kiss. " Beautiful Margo. mine. " " Well, you're certainly taking my mind off my ... kiss me again. " " Glad to.

...If I don't have twenty or thirty books right here, waiting to be read, I start jonesing. That's my compulsion.

There it was, Eve supposed. There was the answer to why people got tangled up with people. Because when you were down, when you were wallowing, someone you mattered to would ask if you were okay.

She gazed toward the marsh that grew thicker, deeper, greener with approaching summer. Mosquitoes whined in there, breeding in the dark water. Alligators slid through it, silent death. It was a place where snakes could slither and bogs could suck the shoe right off your foot. And it was a place, she thought, that went bright and beautiful with the twinkling of fireflies, where wildflowers thrived in the shade and the stingy light. Where an eagle could soar like a king. There was no beauty without risk. No life without it.

You're excuses are so lame they're limping.

Hey. Hands off.” ", "“Please. Please, please, soooo pretty. Lemme just have one little touch.” "“Peabody, isn’t it embarrassing enough you’re wearing pink cowboy boots, again, without standing here drooling on my coat?”", [J.D. Robb, Celebrity In Death]