Do you know how many ways love can hit you? So it makes you happy, or miserable? It makes you sick in the belly or hurt in the heart. It makes everything brighter and sharper, or it blurs all the edges. It makes you feel like a king or a fool. Every way love can hit you, it's hit me when it comes to you.

Her killer wrote a note on that stationary." "A note." Now Renquist's eyebrows lifted. "Well. That was rather arrogant of him, wasn't it?

If people let other people alone, people would be better off. It's always people that screw things up for people anyway.

If something isn't special, then it's ordinary.

I think I've just lost five pounds in fear sweat." Peabody mopped at her face. "Now I want a cannoli. I don't know why." With a laugh, Roarke shifted to grin at her. "I'll buy you a dozen, precious." "Cannolis, for God's sake.

It's Major Ketchup in the bathroom with the laser scalpel." "Hmm." He sliced a delicately herbed spear of asparagus. "Obviously we were meant for each other as I can interpret that as you meaning something more like Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick.

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.