It was beautiful Eric, who desired me, who was hungry for me, in a world that often let me know it could do very well without me.

My gran had always told me that a woman--any woman worth her salt--could do whatever she had to.

Vampires. They wrote the book on possessive.

It's probably a bad indicator of your lifestyle when you miss your ex-boyfriend because he's absolutely lethal.

We could go back to your house. I can stay with you always. We can know each others bodies in every way, night after night. I could love you. I could work, you would not be poor. I would help you.

A piece of happiness should never be taken as due.

I hate witches. Humans had the right idea, burning them at the stake.

(Sookie's Thoughts on Debbie Pelt) she had been cruel to Alcide, insulted me grievously, burned a hole in my favorite wrap and—oh—tried to kill me by proxy. Also, she had stupid hair.

If there were an international butt competition, Eric would win, hands down—or cheeks up.

Come on, " I said, taking his hand. Clutching the afghan with the other hand, he trailed down the hall after me, a snow white giant in tiny red underwear.

There is no better Eraser for the past than a good use of the present.

Many working families are both prisoners and architects of the time bind in which they find themselves.

Let us go to Calvary to learn how we may be forgiven. And then let us linger there to learn how to forgive.

America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards.

The only substance properly so called is the soul.

It'll be a great day when the seniors have all the baseball caps they need and the Pentagon bombs Gilligan's Island.

That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.

The short of it is, as an aspiring writer, there is nothing as damaging to your credibility as saying that you don't like to read.

Universe will re-arrange itself accordingly.