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

He gave her a quick, casual kiss on the cheek first. Then came the hug, and it was the hug that always made Laurel’s heart mush. Serious grip, cheek to the hair, eyes closed, just a little sway. Del’s hugs mattered, she thought, and made him impossible to resist.

You are who you are. I know you. You believe that? "Yea but--" "You're Eve Dallas. You're the love of my life. My heart and Soul. You're a cop, mind and bone. You're a woman of strength and resilience. Stubborn, hardheaded, occassionally mean as a badger, and more generous that you'll admit.

What's your status?" she asked him. "Healthy, wealthy, and wise. What's yours?" "Ha. Mean, crafty, and rude.

I think those who have impact and influence over us are often unaware.

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

The man was useless as tits on a bull, but he didn't deserve to die like that.