Why the hell can't people just write nice happy stories about people having happy sex? That's what I want, and I bet a whole bunch of other people want it too.

If we had to go live action, I'd hold out for Tim Burton to direct.

Marie clasped her hands together and looked vulnerable. Payne flinched. “The only time you don’t tell me something is when you think it’s dangerous, because being a fragile, sheltered noblewoman, I might faint at the thought of experiencing physical harm like a common person.” She sighed, and seemingly from nowhere, produced an enormous cast-iron frying pan easily one hundred centimeters in diameter. “And then,” she said sadly, “I have to damage one of the good pans by smacking it against your thick, common skull until you tell me—

Klaus Wulfenbach: Was my son upset? Bangladesh DuPree: Oh, him? Yeah! He's all set to be a hero and rescue her--and then he finds out he'd need fireplace tongs to get her undressed? Yeah, upset is the word.

As it happened, I had a friend who was a good person who liked to present himself as a dreadful one. Using him as a role model, I created the first Buck Godot strip.

Any plan where you lose your hat is a bad plan.

One of the characteristics I cherish in my friends is their childlike gullibility, and several excited minutes were spent trying to actually find this book.