I like to think that good people win. But even good people have other sides. Most people will slow down to get a good look at an accident, even though they won't admit it.

She didn't see him at first. She was watching the dancers. Her color was high, and there were deep dimples at the corners of her mouth. She looked nine miles out of place, but he had never loved her more. This was Willa on the edge of a smile.

Like all sweet dreams, it will be brief, but brevity makes sweetness, doesn't it?

They walked through the rainy dark like gaunt ghosts, and Garraty didn't like to look at them. They were the walking dead.

Busy as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.

It's hard for me to believe that people who read very little (or not at all in some cases) should presume to write and expect people to like what they have written.

In these silences something may rise