Quotes About Author

Look," I said, trying to reason with him despite extensive experience that this rarely worked. "This isn't a great time. I have my inauguration—" "Coronation." "—coming up

Giving him the distinction of being the only human to be literally kicked out of hell.

I was the kind of gal who thought the nightgown drawer was where old T-shirts went to die and

No they called it the Codex Merlini because it was written by a guy named Ralph.

Lying in his dirty palm is a pale green stone.

Let's you and me get together and do away with some of the possibilities.

No rational person would intentionally commit an act of evil, for everyone knows that it would bring the wrath of the community upon him. (Socrates)

One hundred copies? Of these poems you do not even like?" asked the Roman. "They're nasty bits about famous people; everyone will want them.

I would value you less if I were not a refugee your presence changes my wilderness to a garden (From the poem To My Children)

I hear the first drops. Like the tapping of a stranger at the door of a dream, the rain changes everything.

There was something appealing in thinking of a character with a secret life that her author knew nothing about. Slipping off while the author's back was turned, to find love in her own way. Showing up just in time to deliver the next bit of dialogue with an innocent face.

Besides, I'm not sure they let ferrets into Heaven and I'd miss old Mavet.

That's it. Fate is a fickle whore. We're not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.

That's it. Fate is a fickle whore. We're not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.

I'm asking the questions tonight." One day I was going to write a book: How to Dictate to a Dictator and Evade an Evader, subtitled How to Handle Jericho Barrons.

Okay, Barrons, it's time." "I am not helping you shave your legs." he said instantly. "Oh please. As if I'd let you.

And then what? Said, 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Lane, I didn't mean to wrinkle your lovely blouse. May I press that for you?' Or perhaps you gouged it with one of your pretty pink nails?" I was really beginning to wonder what his hang-up with pink was, but I didn't resent the sarcasm in his voice.

Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?" "I do." I squint at it, then him. "What are you paying me?" I angle. "Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore." I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he's shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.

From who?" "From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing." "All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?

He looked blank. "He's the one who's been doing the magic against us?" "Duh," I said. "Doona be 'duh'ing me, lass," he growled, his burr thickening.

All those 'bloodys' was a veritable cornucopia of emotion for Barrons.

We were watching Barrons. Why were you watching Barrons? Barrons needs watching.

He looked as if he'd stepped straight off the cover of one of those romance novels she ordered from Amazon.com so she didn't have to be embarassed by some supercilious male clerk in the bookstore.

I was stunned to see that he looked stunned himself, which was an exorbitant display of emotion for Barrons.