The outward appearance would never indicate they were brothers. (...) But she could see that at the moment they were as united as triplets in the womb.

A good story's like a door, and you can go through it whenever you need to. After you've read it or seen it or heard it, you can still go back through it. Once it's yours, it's always yours.

Oh, God. God, isn't that perfect? He's Dad. He's Dad with a layer of nerd. Solid, steady, chipping away so patiently, you don't even know you've had your shields hacked down until you're defenseless. It's the type." "You're not in love with a type, you're in love with a man," Penny corrected. "Or you're not.

Not enough." Margo rose and tucked the towel in place. " Come on, let's go stuff her in a locker. For old time's sake.

So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.” “I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.” “He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?” “Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.” “Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them down the hall.

So does that mean you're going to fall in love with me again? What makes you think i ever stopped?

A ghra. A amhain. My love. My only.