Think of a book special to you, and how much bleaker and poorer your life would be if that one writer had not existed - if that one writer had not, a hundred times or a thousand, made the choice to write. You're going to be that one writer one day for somebody you may never meet. Nobody can write that book you're going to write - that book that will light up and change up a life - but you.

Nick is driving us," Jamie informed him. "Nick has a car. Nick has TWO cars. Ha!

You're barely even wearing a shirt! What are you going to do if a mugger jumps out at you, flash them?

If you weren’t there, how do you know someone pushed her?” Sergeant Kenn asked. “Well …,” said Jared. “And what were you doing, running through a strange town at night?” “I was jogging?” Jared offered. “Without your shirt or your shoes?” “Uh,” said Jared.

Turns out he does run," Nick drawled. "Given an incentive. And he wouldn't be so out of breath if he hadn't kept shrieking." "That was not a shriek," Jamie said with dignity. "It was a husky masculine cry of terror.

Your timing is amazing," Kami told him. "By which I mean, I am amazed by it.

The word 'home', it seemed, once learned, was a hard one to forget.