Quotes from Elizabeth Bevarly

People talk about how sad it would be to die before they've done everything they want to do or seen everything they want to see. But I think it would be worse to live life and have there be nothing left that you want to see or do.

Virtuoso? Are you serious? What kind of code name is that? Who's assigning code names these days? They should be shot. How can anyone feel threatened by someone named Virtuoso?

One minute I was shopping for my daughter, and the next minute, I saw one of the most dangerous women in the world straightening underwear at Lauderdale's.

had been a long time since he'd touched a woman like that It was that he'd never touched a woman like Claire at all. Not one who was all cool culture and calm comportment and classy custom.

But a little perspiration never hurt anyone. Especially that sort of perspiration. And that sort of perspiration was definitely one of life's simple pleasures. Well, maybe that sort of perspiration wasn't so simple, she conceded.

Hoo-kay, Marnie thought. Whoever this guy was, he'd caught the express train from la-la land and hopped off at weirdsville. And now he was looking around for the platform for his connection to loonytown.

it had been longer ago than last Thanksgiving that she'd experienced the perspiration thing. A quick tally told her just how long, and she suddenly realized why she was suddenly so preoccupied with breathless, aching, ferocious, insistent, sweaty, wanton, ah… that feeling a woman should probably have for a man with whom she intended to spend the rest of her life.

After all, it had been…how long since his last sexual encounter? He did some mental math: carry the one, make the seven an eight…multiply by pi…add the square root of sixty-two…do the hokeypokey and turn yourself around…When he saw the final number, he immediately erased the blackboard. No way could it have

That had been last Thanksgiving. And it had been longer ago than last Thanksgiving that she'd experienced the perspiration thing. A quick tally told her just how long, and she suddenly realized why she was suddenly so preoccupied with breathless, aching, ferocious, insistent, sweaty, wanton, ah…that feeling a woman should probably have for a man with whom she intended to spend the rest of her life.

What do you mean no one knows where he is? Human beings don't just disappear. Not unless they've been abducted by aliens. But even then, isn't there some kind of crop circle left behind or something?

whether it was fortunate or unfortunate for Claire that neither of her parents had left be-hind any relatives suitable for raising her—all had either been too dilapidated, too debilitated, too disinterested, or too dysfunctional.

Since then, he'd seen so many things that defeated and demoralized him. Nobody could change the world singlehandedly. Hell, nobody could change the state child welfare system. Not unless they were able to complete an overhaul of human nature. Not unless they were able to wipe out the blackness that lurked in every person's soul.

What do you mean no one knows where he is? Human beings don't just disappear. Not unless they've been abducted by aliens. But even then, isn't there some kind of crop circle left behind or something? Does this Ramsey Sage not have a crop circle? Because if he doesn't, then he's probably not been abducted by aliens, in which case, we'd have a good chance of finding him, I'd think.

figure out if he knew her from somewhere. But he didn't, she was sure, unless it was just in passing at the mall. She would have remembered a man like him. For a long, long time. And then she would have dreamed about him. A lot. Probably without clothes. On either of them.

If I were her? First thing I'd do is torch my little black book and start over again. Because the men that woman attracts are just plain odd.

Gee, color her suspicious, but if he kept this up, she was going to start thinking he wasn't a mall security guard at all.

She hurried down the stairs on the side of the carriage house, but when she rounded the corner and saw Max standing beside the roadster wiping his greasy hands on a rag, she stopped. She couldn't help herself. He just had a presence—or something—about him that made it impossible for her not to notice him. Be distracted by him. Respond to him. Succumb to him. What was it she had just been planning to do...?

He'd never been the materialistic type, anyway. As evidenced by the fact that, currently, he slept in a tent and drove a mustang. The real kind of mustang, lower case, and not the upper-case car manufactured by the Ford Motor Company.

This time he sighed heavily before shaking his head. But he did shake his head. Kind of. "No, some kid in the neighborhood told me and Russell that the chemistry lab of Seattle Community College had just switched over to Mac from PC, and we really, really wanted a Mac.

Some guys actually like it when a woman's brain is as full as her bra.

he found himself wanting to learn more. About her brain and her bra.

She'd read enough issues of Parents and Parenting magazines in recent weeks to understand that no matter when or how one became a parent, one had no idea what one was getting oneself into until it was too late. She'd learned, too, that no matter how chaotic and challenging the child, parents grew to love them unconditionally.

The car guy. She formed a quick impression of a wizened, little old man of German descent who knew auto mechanics backward and forward, and who tinkered under the hoods of everything on wheels, murmuring things like, "Hmmm... Hmmm... Ah hah! De problem, you see, iss viss da discombobulator intravector svitch, vich hass gone kablooey.

It took only one, very quick, perusal of Ramsey Sage for Claire to know everything she needed to know about him. He was completely unfit to be anyone's mother. Or father. Or guardian.