Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
... friends are such a mixed blessing.
My 20s were a blizzard of rejection slips.
Did vampirism encourage Stockholm syndrome?
Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
Never, EVER give up. Not ever. Not EVER. Ever EVER!
I'm really fortunate that I type 120 words a minute.
There's more than one way for a girl to Google a cat.
I'm in a Road Runner cartoon, Sinclair. And I'm the coyote.
You have attained maturity; display it for us, if you please.
Why is it suddenly uncool to spell? That's all I want to know.
He said my name the way diabetics talked about hot fudge sundaes.
It's inappropriate for the queen of the dead to be afraid of ghosts.
Also,I loathe it when you refer to me as dude" Eric Sinclair to Betsy
I can't not write funny. It's literally the only way I know how to do it.
Being a writer is great, and being a parent is great, and I hate Marching Band.
I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
I love interviews, meeting fans, teaching workshops, giving speeches... all of it.
Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
Back off, boys. You don't want to mess with an out-of-work secretary. We're real testy.
Yeah, well, it's been a super fun week. And by 'super fun' I mean 'horrible and endless'.
They weren't moving. Perhaps I was dazzling then with my ineptitude. It had happened before.
I'm rubber and you're glue," I told Satan, " and everything that bounces of me sticks to you.
Never let your fiend off his leash unless there's lots of room to run (and no people around).
We have souls. Sure we do. Otherwise we'd do bad things all the time. You know, like politicians.
It was scary how much she sounded like me sometimes. Maybe that's why she totally got on my nerves
Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
Magic: The Gathering is like Dungeons and Dragons if D&D was played with cards and didn't take 18 weeks.
Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.
I know it's practical for career women, but sneakers with suits? Jesus couldn't possibly weep harder than I did.
I might occasionally forget how to open a car door and have too many shower curtains, but I've got some standards.
I love traveling, but I love the bum I married, and the bums I gave birth to, more. And the dogs. I love them, too.
You'll pay," she said stonily. "You won't be like this by this time tomorrow." "Bored and pissed off? God, I hope not.
I'd go to a bookstore, and I'd flip through flap copy, and I'd think, 'If this gal can get published, I can get published.'
I own two beautiful homes, and I'm always half-expecting the cops to pull in, seize me with firm compassion, and escort me out.
I'm a sucker for the big, gruff, distant, emotionally closed-off hero who sloooowly warms up to the feisty, awesome, sweet heroine.
Interesting shade #23 Lush Golden Blonde highlights. Heyyyyyy.... The woman in the awful suit was me! The woman in the cheap shoes was me!
I like the idea of federal employees licensed to carry weapons who are also heavily medicated; it just works for me on all sorts of levels.
I trudged around on the muddy river bottom for half an hour, patiently waiting to drown, before giving up and slogging my way back to shore.
I wrote for free for, like, fifteen years; I could redo my parlor in rejection slips. It would be surprisingly tasteful - they use nice paper.
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.
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'.
I've found I can plunge the characters into whatever absurd, awful situation, and readers will follow as long as the writer makes them seem like 'real people.'
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.
Among other things, Marching Band forms state that if my kid starts acting like a li'l jerkface on a trip, Marching Band can call and command me to pick up my li'l jerkface.
I guess you could say that no matter what the characters are enduring, I try to make them retain their humanity. Their self-absorbed, grouchy, selfish, aggravating humanity.
I'm more to my family than a wonderful, luminous cook. I'm also a wonderful, luminous butler and a wonderful, luminous chauffer. And checkbook. I'm a luminous checkbook, too.
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.
It's nice to see you again, Laura." "Thank you, Mrs. T-" "No, no, no. Please, my name is-" "Mud," I suggested. "Mud Barfbag Taylor. Call her Asshat for short." ~Laura, Antonia, Betsy