People talk about nature as a mother, but to me she's always been Medea, ready and willing to slaughter her children.

Seriously,” Shane said, “this kind of is the worst situation we’ve ever been in, right?” “Speak for yourself,” Michael said. “I got myself killed last year. Twice.” “Oh yeah. You’re right—last year really sucked for you.

And before you ask, no, you're not driving, Myrnin. I remember the last time." "That accident was not my fault." "You were the only one on the road, and the mailbox actually didn't leap out in front of you. No arguments. You sit in the back, too.

Pics or it didn't happen." "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.

Harte sent one of her revived men after him, and Pat sent him back in boxes.

As I leafed through the book in front of me and watched the dust swirl in the air, I wondered if maybe there was some evil dormant virus in the pages that would infect me, like the mummy dust that used to kill archaeologists. Death by research. That was not a glorious end.

Turn down the porn soundtrack! Trying to concentrate here!-Shane