“He didn't believe in miracles. If he'd had any philosophy in life in ran along the lines of the classic shit happens. Usually it was bad shit, sometimes it was good shit, but it was always random shit. You lived your life, & when the run was ended, that was it. Nothing.”

“What good is having a friend who's a cop if he won't give me inside information?""So you can ask him to look at a piece of shit pistol after you've already bought it, and pronounce it a piece of shit.”

“What?” he demanded testily.Trammell raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything.”“You’re thinking something, though. You’ve got that shit-eating smirk on your face.”“Why would anyone smirk while they eat shit?” Trammell asked rhetorically.”

“If you're looking for Mr. Perfect, you‟re going to spend your whole life being disappointed, because he doesn‟t exist. You have to get the best deal you can, but there will always be problems.”

“She had no sense of time, of what day it was, or anything beyond the bed she was on and the unceasing battle she fought with the Great Bitch of Pain.The nurses talked to her, too, explaining over and over what had happened to her, what they were doing, why they were doing it. She didn‟t care, so long as they delivered the drugs that kept the Great Bitch at bay. Of course, there came a time—way too soon, by her way of thinking— when her surgeon ordered a decrease in the drugs. He wasn‟t the one in agony, with his sternum cut in two, so what did he care? He was the one wielding the saw and scalpel, not the one on the receiving end. She had only a vague idea which of her visitors was the surgeon, but as her mind began clearing she memorized some particularly salty things she wanted to say to him. Okay, so he'd had to cut her sternum in half, but cutting her drugs in half? Bastard.”

“Is it time for your period, or something?" With unerring instinct, he'd found a great big red button, and pushed it. Wyatt fights to win, which means he fights dirty. I understand the concept because that's how I fight, too, but understanding it didn't stop me from reacting. I could practically feel my blood bubbling with steam. "What?" He turned around, all controlled aggression, and damned if he didn't push the button again. "What is it about having a period that makes women so bitchy?" ... It was an effort, but I said as sweetly as possible, "It isn't that we're bitchier, it's that having a period makes us feel all tired and achy, so we have less tolerance for all the bullshit we normally SUFFER IN SILENCE." By the time the sentence ended the sweetness was long gone, my jaw was clenched, and I think my eyes were bugging out. Wyatt took a step back, belatedly looking alarmed.”

“A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Well, at least six or seven, anyway, because a thousand thoughts are a lot. Try counting your own thoughts and see how long it takes you to get to a thousand.”