Quotes from Diana Palmer

He needs shaking up, I tell you, he's going to die an old maid. He gets all funny and red when unmarried ladies talk to him at church, and just look at how grumpy he's been since you've been around. We've got to save him, Amanda, he said solemnly.

Her green eyes went up to the sky. Well, it wasn't such a very bad place to die, she mused as drowsiness swept over her. She was near Winthrop, even though he didn't care anymore. Maybe he'd bury her here, and she'd be near him forever…

At least her nice boss was going to come out ahead, she thought. Gerald would marry Sadie and have a perfectly wonderful life while Nicky grew old taking dictation. It didn't bear thinking about. Maybe she could do what she'd threatened Winthrop with—get married and have children. Sure. Nothing easier. First, she had to find a man. And who could measure up to old stone face?

she'd marry George who was richer anyway…lies, all lies! "I want you to do your homework from now on," Powell told the child.

It was so fast. So fast. One minute she was reaching, reaching, almost touching the center of ecstasy itself. The next she was convulsing with something so hot with throbbing pleasure that it was almost pain. An inhuman cry tore out of her throat as she went up like a Chinese rocket and exploded into a million flaming pieces of pure joy.

Loving isn't loving unless you have the strength to let go when you have to.

Mean people don't get away with anything, Blake. It may seem that they do, but in the end their meanness ricochets back at them.

Well, that should do it," the man replied. "Oh, and I did put a small camera in your office, just to square things up. It's hidden, so you won't have to worry about somebody spotting it.

Just doing my job," he replied, and grinned again. Why should Tank suddenly think of a play, with one of the characters complaining that another character "smiled too much"? Curious, he watched the man climb into a nice, late-model car and drive off. Why wasn't he in a company truck, like most technicians drove?

He laughed. He had a similar appliance in his truck, a Lo-Jack, and where it was installed nobody knew. "I get it." "Good man. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call us, right?" "Right.

Men are really strange creatures when their emotions get stirred up.

Funny how life pays you back for hurting other people. You may get what you want, but then you have to live with it. Some choices carry their own punishment.

Under fire, you're always afraid. But you harness the fear and use it, attack when you'd rather run. You learn the meaning of courage. It isn't the absence of fear. It's fear management, at its best. You do your duty.

In Bed with the Wrangler

Is that how the song goes. It's the chorus!

The firelight cast harsh shadows over his rugged face, and those eyes glittered raw emerald green. His breath brushed her lips with the scent of wine and mint. "I've tried to go easy on you, to be gentle and give you time to trust me, but I see now that you have the instincts of a pinecone.

and what's in it," Paul said. His eyes narrowed. "After what he did to Isabel and Merrie, I'll be at every damned parole hearing he gets for the rest of my life." "So will they, I imagine," Cash said. "The difference is that he won't have money to buy high-powered attorneys." "Poetic justice.

He cuddled her back into his arms and sighed, closing his eyes as the flames in the gas logs danced like sugar-plums. Gracie watched them across his broad chest, feeling the happiness like a flame inside her heart. Somewhere she heard Christmas carols being sung and a dog barking in the distance. Closer, she heard the strong, regular beat of Jason's heart under her ear. Christmas wasn't only in her heart. It was in her arms.

Silas looked around frantically for help. "How did you get inside my house?" "Your alarm system sucks," Trent said, tapping the blade against Silas's arm. The man jumped. "Get a dog," Ford suggested. "Dogs are better than any alarm system." He rolled his neck. "Can I cut him now? This is boring.

Get him in leg irons and transport him to the hospital," Grier told him curtly. "I need a doctor," Clark raged. "I'm shot. My hand's bleeding!" Grier stared at him. "If you make a move I don't like, you'll need a mortician," he said with pure malice, and abruptly spun the Colt with a professional skill that made Clark back up a step.