Quotes from J.D. Robb

You're Eve Dallas. You're the love of my life. My heart and soul. You're a cop, mind and bone. You're a woman of strength and resilience. Stubborn, hardheaded, occasionally mean as a badger, and more generous than you'll admit.

Someone had painted FUK U on the dented trunk. What does it say about the literacy rate when you can even spell fuck. It's sad, Eve decided.

But it happened to us. At first you ask why—why did this happen to us? Then you realize, and try to accept, there is no why." Lori leaned her head to Ira's shoulder. "An evil person does evil things. There is no why.

Religion was a riddle to her. Believe this, and only this, because we say so. If you don't you're buying a one-way ticket to everlasting Hell.

Organized religion baffled her, made her vaguely uncomfortable. Each had followers who were so sure they were right, that their way was the only way. And throughout history they'd fought wars and shed oceans of blood to prove it.

Fuck me sideways." "Thanks, but you're just not my type." "You're sure." "I'm sure men are my type, but if I went for women, I'd do you.

Darling? Spare a minute?" She came back, her 'link pressed, screen down, to her chest. And hissed, "Don't call me darling when I'm talking to cops." "Sorry, Lieutenant Darling." She rolled her eyes. "What?

And there was nothing in his life he could remember fearing as much as he feared knocking on the bright blue door of that old stone house.

I'm not strong." "You're wrong," Eve said as she rose. "You came here, you asked to help someone who needs help. You're no weak sister, Mrs. Patrick, and he can't make you one.

You have the right to remain silent. You also have the right to put on pants before I cuff you and have you taken into Central.

The mind, and the unconscious mind in particular, is a canvas. We paint on it constantly. Art and music can add such colors, such style.

He could make her want simply by existing. There'd been no one else who could ever hold her heart with no more than a look, a word. He'd given her a life beyond survival, beyond even the badge that had been her world, and the symbol of that survival.

I figure it doesn't work that way. It finds you, and it grabs you by the throat and you can't do a damn thing about it.

How do you know that? You couldn't have finished the book. I skipped to the end. You... He closed his eyes as he drank more wine. Some things are unforgiveable. --Roarke, Dallas, Roarke

Whatever she'd been, whatever she'd become, she was more because he loved her. So

He stood there a moment in the open doorway with the light streaming in and a gentle breeze,a warm one,playing with all that black silk hair. Stood there, she thought,all tall and lean in his perfect suit, one hand in his pocket.On her button, she realized.He carried that damn button like a magic charm.

Love, when it's real, doesn't hang on conditions.

When things change, the wise adjust.

traffic was as mean as a constipated lion

Breath is life. You are not the pebble washed to shore by the wave, but the fish that swims in the wave. Breathe in to fill, to draw in the light.

Poison was poison whether it killed you emotionally, mentally, or physically.

He just took her mouth again, spun her again--twice and toward the bed. She considered putting up a fight, for form's sake, but just wriggled back enough to scowl at him. I'm working. Not yet, and you're mostly naked. Such a fine look on you, one of my favorites. Then why is that closet full of clothes? Because being an understanding sort, I appreciate your insistence on being fully dressed in public.

But getting the sinner where justice deemed he belonged was the trick. It required a system. And the system demanded its rules, techniques, manpower, organizations, and loopholes. And the occasional seminar to educate and inform.

Jeez. Okay, okay, sorry I jumped on you. I'm a little tense. Would you tell me, since you're so brave and strong and smart, how you know this is the source?