Quotes About Author

I admit, Morgan said with another withering look, it's no donut.

I declared her brain frozen and assumed command of the local Warden detachment, which was handy, since it consisted of only me anyway.

When I finally got tired of arguing with her and decided to write a novel as if I was some kind of formulaic, genre writing drone, just to prove to her how awful it would be, I wrote the first book of the Dresden Files.

Thwart: to prevent someone from accomplishing something by means of visiting gratuitous violence upon his smarmy person.

Dammit. What kind of weapons are they toting?" "Uh, teeth. Mostly teeth, Harry." I glared at him. "Not the dogs.

She was also mad. Loopy as a crochet convention.

So, he said. Mab. I grunted vaguely in reply. You hit that, Sanya said.

yes, I can in fact capitalize any words I desire. The language is English. I am English. Therefore mine is the opinion which matters, colonial heathen.

With a sense of humor like that, you could make a living as a garbage man anywhere in the country.

I'm not a doctor, Butters said. We'd done this dance several times. You are the Mighty Butters, I said. You can do anything.

Against anything human, more than one round to the head would be overkill: When the merely mortal goes up against the supernatural, there's no such thing as overkill

Mister didn't come with me on cases, being above such trivial matters, but he found me pleasant company when I was at home and not moving around too much, except when he didn't, in which case he went rambling

Martin was alphabetizing my bookshelves. They used to kill men for sacrilege like that.

I'm going to use them to track him down and thwart him. Thwart? Sarissa asked. Thwart. I said. To prevent someone from accomplishing something by means of visiting gratuitous violence upon his smarmy person. I'm pretty sure that isn't the definition, Sarissa said. It is today.

The one bad thing about the duster," she mused. "I could never see your butt." "I never noticed." "If you went around noticing your own ass I'd worry about you, Harry.

Woof," said Billy the Werewolf.

That's so typical. You won't steal a baby, but you're too lazy to conjugate.

I tried not to be too obviously interested, and fumbled my notebook and trusty pencil from my duster's pocket.

There was no milk in the icebox, and I wasn't pouring Coke onto breakfast cereal. That would just be odd.

Wow," Bob said, in a perfectly calm, matter-of-fact, conversational tone. "That is incredibly unfair.

it—I was pretty much equipped, by experience and inclination, for mayhem.

Because Nicodemus is a murderous murdering murderer," I said.

He is a cat, Miss Lancaster. Asking him such questions is an exercise in futility.

I slip into the archaic at dramatically appropriate moments. So sue me.