...those who love suffer when who they love suffers.

And still she felt more confident at the prospect of taking on the Russian Mafia than she did attending a backyard barbecue.

There are no dead ends, just detours.

My apartment's only about a block away." "Isn't that handy." "Fate," he countered as he took a seat on the sofa and made himself at home. "Fantasic, isn't it?" "One day very soon, I'm going to tell you what you can do with that fate of yours.

I didn't get fired." "You didn't punch your boss and get fired from the Tribune? That's what I heard." "I punched what could loosely be called a colleague for cribbing my notes on a story and since the editor–who happened to be the asshole's uncle–took his word over mine, I quit." "To write books. Is it fun?" "I guess it is." "I bet you killed the asshole in the first one you wrote." "You'd be right. Beat him to death with a shovel. Very satisfying.

Why?” Eve leaned forward. “Sincerely, I’ve always wanted to know why anyone buys multiple pairs of shoes at a time.” “If I have to explain it, the joy is lost.

I don't like the idea of you shivering unless I cause it. Stay warm." ----Roarke, Naked In Death