“I’m not putting my faith or life in anyone’s hands. All that ever got me was screwed, and my ass is currently sore from it. (Wren)Nice imagery there, tiger. Graphic. Ever think of writing children’s books? (Fury)”

“My current verdict would be: Crazy Eyes. Nice Ass.""I think I want that on my tombstone.”

“Man, Wren. I’m impressed. No woman ever sent flowers to thank me. (Serre)Don’t be that impressed. I’m thinking she didn’t send flowers to thank him. One flower says thank you. This many says she thought he was dead. Or that she killed him. Hmm...I’m thinking, put a tiger in her tank and that didn’t quit rev her up. What she needs is to go hunting for bear. (Dev)”

“All the little money that ever came into my hands was ever laid out in books.”

“Fine.” I poured one more shot for her, then screwed the lid on the bottle. “But that’s it. I’m not putting my life in the hands of a bunch of drunks.”

“Where are you going?”“My God, you’re like the plague.”“A masterfully crafted, powerfully understated, and epic parable of timeless moral resonance? Why, thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” he said.“The disease, Noah. Not the book.”“I’m ignoring that qualification.”