Every writer has to figure out what works best - and often has to select and discard different tools before they find the one that fits.

I hate patience. Slows everything down.

Alone in her shelter, she allowed herself tears. When her shelter cooled to the touch she called to Gull, “Coming out!” She eased her head out into the smoky air, looked over at Gull. She imaged they both looked like a couple of sweaty, parboiled turtles climbing out of their shells. “Hello, gorgeous.” She laughed. It hurt her throat, but she laughed. “Hey, handsome.

I want you to take note, Commander, that turning in my badge would be like cutting off my arm. But if it comes down to a choice between the job and my marriage, then I lose the arm.

Life is like a moustache. It can be wonderful or terrible. But it always tickles.

Roarke "I'll drop you." Eve "No, better I catch a cab or take the underground. This guy sees me show up in a hot car with a fancy piece behind the wheel, he's not going to like me." Roarke "You know how I love being referred. to as your fancy piece." Eve "Sometimes you're my love muffin.

Why couldn't she have this, just enjoy this, without creating obstacles, digging up problems, worrying about mistakes, about tomorrow's? Why let the maybe's, the what if's, the probabilities spoil something so lovely?