He Quotes (page 537)
My friend Simon managed only sixteen of the seventeen League games - he smashed his head on a bookshelf in London a few hours before the Grimsby game on the 28th of Decemebr; his girlfriend had to take his car keys away from him because he kept making dazed attempts to drive from Fulham up to the Abbey.
Nick Hornby
I didn't want it to be this way." "Yes, you did," she said, "because it is."I just want to be with someone normal," he said. "I just want to have a normal life."Excuse me," she said."You're a little crazy," he said. "You're too old to act the way you do. You've got to grow up. You've got to take care of yourdelf. I'm afraid for you. You can't think that people are going to take care of you all the time.
Candace Bushnell
Rosenfeld runs the metropolitan staff, the Post's largest, like a football coach. He prods his players, letting them know that he has promised the front office results, pleading, yelling, cajoling, pacing, working his facial expressions for instant effects - anger, satisfaction, concern.-- Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward
Carl Bernstein
Grant smiled-slowly, deliberately. Insolently? Gennie wasn't sure, but her heart rose to her throat and stuck there. However he smiled, whatever his intent, it added a wicked, irresistible charm to his face. She thought it was a smile a barbarian might have given his woman before he tossed her over his shoulder and took her into some dark cave.
Nora Roberts
That was well-done," Alan told her later as he gave Shelby a limited tour of the house. "Was it?" Laughing, she linked her hand with his. "He's a difficult man to resist." She rose on her toes to nibble his earlobe. "So's his firstborn."That term's to be used reverently," Alan warned her. "Personally I've always found it a pain in the-
Nora Roberts
I brought the newspaper close up to my eyes to get a better view of George Pollucci's face, spotlighted like a three-quarter moon against a vague background of brick and black sky. I felt he had something important to tell me, and that whatever it was might just be written on his face. But the smudgy crags of George Pollucci's features melted away as I peered at them, and resolved themselves into a regular pattern of dark and light and medium gray dots. The inky black newspaper paragraph...
Sylvia Plath
Can we go back to the part where you're in love with me?"No, because I'm not anymore. I've come to my senses."That's a damn shame, that is. You'll have to wait here a minute. There's something I need from inside."I'll not stand out here. I'm going home."I'll only come after you, Brenna," he called over his shoulder as he walked to the door.
Nora Roberts