It's inappropriate for the queen of the dead to be afraid of ghosts.
Zombieland reference," Jon said, nodding. "How do you know that? That's a thousand-year-old reference!" I looked at laura. "I can't think of a single movie from a thousand years ago." "Uh...Betsy..." "Don't say it." You know how you don't know how stupid something is until you hear yourself say it? That happened to me a lot.
I'm in a Road Runner cartoon, Sinclair. And I'm the coyote.
She couldn't tell where his pupils ended and the irises began; looking into those eyes was like looking into a well where children had drowned.
We have souls. Sure we do. Otherwise we'd do bad things all the time. You know, like politicians.
... friends are such a mixed blessing.
You'll pay," she said stonily. "You won't be like this by this time tomorrow." "Bored and pissed off? God, I hope not.
All writers are crazy. So never mind what the editors and your family and your critique group tells you. Submit your manuscripts and keep submitting until you get an offer. Then you can be crazy, with a paycheck.
I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.
The vampire bible, bound in human skin, written in blood, and full of prophecies that were never wrong. Trouble was, if you read the thing too long, it drove you nuts. Not "I'm having a bad day and feel bitchy" nuts or PMS nuts. "I think I'll commit felony assault on my friends and rape my boyfriend" nuts.
I—I adore you, too. Well, I don't know if I adore you. That's not really the word I'd use. But I—I—" I managed to wrench it out. God, this was hard! "I love you." "Of course you do," he said, totally unsurprised. "WHAT? I finally tell you my deepest, most personal feelings and you're all, 'Yeah, I already got that memo'? This, this is why you drive me nuts! This is why it's so hard to tell you things! I take it back.
Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
Here I am, just wandering down a deserted street in the middle of the night. I hope I don't run into any trouble. Goodness, that would just ruin my whole evening." I strolled and hummed, trying to project Innocent Victim.
Kissing Sinclair was like making out with a sexy timber wolf— he was licking my fangs and nipping me lightly and growling under his breath and it was...oh, it was really something.
Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for the idignity you suffered and offer you the head of our enemy as—" "Put that thing down," I said impatiently. "I can't talk to you when you're shaking his head like a damned maraca.
Back off, boys. You don't want to mess with an out-of-work secretary. We're real testy.
I've been stabbed before. Barely a week ago, in fact. AND I've been audited, AND I come from a broken home. In short - no offense, shorty - you don't scare me.
Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
My my Laura Goodman. I must say that is a charming name for a charming young lady." "Eric's old." I broke in. "Really really old." "Er— really?" Laura asked. "Gosh you don't look even out of your thirties." "Tons of face-lifts. He's a surgical addict. I'm trying to get him help." I added defensively when they both gave me strange looks.
I've always assumed he'd be around to be, you know, yelled at and taken for granted. And of course I was wrong. Nobody's going to put up with that forever.
He snarled at me. "This isn't over yet, Betsy." "Excellent," I said. "I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.
Yeah, well, it's been a super fun week. And by 'super fun' I mean 'horrible and endless'.
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