I don't care how much evidence the state presented. I've never for one moment believed he murdered that waitress.

I hate to admit this, but some days hearing about other people's problems actually cheers me up.

Phoebe tapped the toe of her sneaker against the dock. “There’s only one good use for a man like Heath Champion.” “Here we go again,” Molly muttered. Phoebe’s lip curled. “Target practice.

Everybody’s afraid of something.

Why don't I just hand you my panties and be done with it.

This is America. We’re entitled to our opinions.” “Wrong. This is Texas. And my opinion is the only one that counts.

You try spending six months sitting at somebody's bedside, waiting for them to die and then tell me that the happy-ending love story isn't one of God's good gifts.