He trailed off as he saw the books. Piles and stacks of them beside the sofa, another stack on the coffee table, a sea of them on her dining table. Jesus Christ, Dane, you need treatment.

Roarke had to force himself not to snatch her up as she swept through the hallowed Senate halls. Members of the media were already leaping toward her, but she cut through them as if they weren’t there. “I like your style, Lieutenant Dallas,” he said when they’d fought their way to the car. “I like it a lot. And by the way, I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore. I know I am.

Things have a way of falling into place.

((Doc is getting ready to do a Pap-smear on Reece)) "Looks healthy," Doc commented. "Good, because it hasn't been getting any exercise in quite a while." When she heard Willow smother a laugh, Reece just closed her eyes. She had to remember some old saying about being careful of thoughts. They become words.

You don't find time to write. You make time. It's my job.

Planting a flower's like opening a book, because either way you're starting something. And your garden's your library.

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.