Quotes About Action

was slow, so we took a chance and got out again back

OK, Finlay, let's get it done," I said. "I don't have an address because I don't live anywhere. Maybe one day I'll live somewhere and then I'll have an address and I'll send you a picture postcard and you can put it in your damn address book, since you seem so damn concerned about it.

corresponding

You produce the right results for the wrong reasons, then." I nodded. "But I try to do the right thing. I think the reasons don't really matter. Whatever, I like to see the right thing done.

Afterward the last one looked best off. He was still moving. So Reacher stepped down and kicked him in the head. Just once. The irreducible number. But hard. To discourage further participation. Then the lobby door opened and Brenda Amos walked in.

Laziness and complacency.

that it's easy enough to shoot a man. But there's absolutely no way to unshoot one.

have gambled and stalled.

Without breaking stride Reacher head-butted him full in the face. Left, right, bang. A perfect ten, for style and content, and power and precision.

They that sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind.

Reacher] moved the mouse and sent the arrow up toward the icons. He knew they were files. Or file folders. You had to click on them, and in response they would open. He was never sure whether you had to click once or twice. He had seen it done both ways. His usual habit was to click twice. If in doubt, etcetera. Maybe it helped, and it never seemed to hurt. Like shooting someone in the head. A double tap could do no harm.

Attacking me was like pushing open a forbidden door. What waited on the other side was his problem. His risk. If he didn't like it, he shouldn't have pushed open the damn door.

name. "Jack Reacher

Take it wherever I was supposed to take it. The rest of the stuff, I'd get rid of it." "That's what I would do as well," I said. "Where would you

Get your retaliation in first.

There would have been ten squad cars there in a thin minute.

She crawled on. She wanted to get closer. She knew the numbers. A thirty-round magazine would be gone in two seconds. She wanted to make both of them count. She wanted to get lucky. If she hit one and he hit one, that was two less for later. Which was good.

Which all might have worked, if Reacher had stayed down a step. But he didn't. They charged and he stepped back up to where he was before, and he kicked the nearest guy in the face. And then he twisted and hit the left-hand guy with his elbow, and twisted again and hit the right-hand guy with the same elbow coming back. Gravity and New Hampshire granite finished the job.

McGrath clicked the Glock's trigger to release the safety device.

Way to his left the backhoe rolled forward. The big slack tires gave and flexed. The three guys stood back-to, pressed up against the rear of the building. Rifles at port arms. Then the counterman rolled around the corner and inched along the end wall. He got to the next corner and took a cautious look. He raised his rifle.

yards ahead of him, his gun in his right

Then Chang fired. Full auto. Nine hundred rounds a minute. Impossibly fast. A brief blur of sound, like a manic sewing machine. Two seconds. A whole mag. Dirt stitched up in a line and a splinter of wood blew off the building.

Better to hit her now. She thinks her job is done. She's coming down off a high. Her adrenaline is low. She'll be braver in the morning." Bishop

Don't worry about why it went wrong. Just damn well put it right.