We can't stop living because other people are dead.

Lissa knelt down, compassion on her face. I wasn't surprised, since she'd always had a thing for animals. She'd lectured me for days after I'd instigated the infamous hamster-and-hermit-crab fight. I'd viewed the fight as a testing of worthy opponents. She'd seen it as animal cruelty.

We all stared at the scoreboard in stunned silence. Only Carter was able to get anything out. "That," he told Robert exuberantly, "is how a bird in the hand gets up before the early worm." "That doesn't make any sense," said Roger. Carter pointed at the scoreboard. "Neither does that, but there you have it.

None of you appreciate me. Why is it so hard to believe that I could make a real contribution in these dark rimes?

My death will not be penciled on someone's calendar.

One day she's throwing a book at me. The next, we're making out behind the library.

No," he said, voice thick and husky. His fingers dug into the chair's arms. "You'd better not get too close." I stopped, laughing softly. "You don't strike me as the assaulting type, Mortensen." "Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything.