merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again

Well I ain't Dr. Phil, but I'm smart," she said. "And your shoes are cuter than his," I said, trying to sound at least semi-normal. "Yeah they remind me of Dorothy's ruby slippers, only mine are wedges 'cause I'm more fashion conscious than she was.

I don’t like the way he looks at you.” My stomach lurched. “What do you mean? How does he look at me?” “Like you’re not a student and he’s not a teacher.

Beautiful, see the cloud, the cloud appear. Beautiful, see the rain, the rain draw near.

The Fomorians skittered backward, away from me, looking justifiably confused. I mean, really, how many human women actually run to them? And I was a human woman covered in swamp yuck, with wild red hair sticking out in matted hunks and arms flailing like a demented Bride of Frankenstein. I'd run from me.

Oh, God, Shannon. You're blowing my mind." Clint's morning voice was rich with passion. I wanted to correct him and explain that it wasn't his mind I was blowing, but my mother had taught me it was impolite to speak when one's mouth was full.

He's not the brightest crayola in the pack.