“Lying on his back, Jess kicked furiously at the windshield. "Damn. It. Break. Already. You. Sorry. Son. Of. A. Biscuit. Eating. Cat.”

“Jesse couldn't picture a more desolate setting to meet his end. He watched the water drops gather and slide down the windshield, remembered how as a child he'd pretend they were eating each other, tried to pretend he was sitting in the back of his daddy's car now heading over to Grandma's for dinner.”

“Jesse: " Hey Rose, welcome back. Still breaking hearts?"Rose: " Are you volunteering?”

“You can shove a cat in an oven, but that doesn't make it a biscuit.”

“That’s right, Sha-kira?” I shook my head “No, sorry. My hips do lie.” “Damn ok, back to the drawing board.”

“How dare you give the poor woman trouble over those nasty biscuits! If you made biscuits worth eating, sir, perhaps she wouldn’t throw them to the fish!”He blinked his eyes in astonishment. “Biscuits worth eating? I’ll have you know, madam, that I bake the best biscuit on the high seas!”“That’s not saying much, considering that ship’s biscuits are notoriously awful!”“It’s alright, Louisa, you needn’t defend me—“ Sara began.Louisa just ignored her. “Those biscuits were so hard, I could scarcely choke them down. As for that stew—”“Look here, you disrespectful harpy,” the cook said, punctuating his words with loud taps of his cane. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Silas Drummond’s stew, and I defy any man—or woman—to make a better one!”