But in my book, it was basically bad taste to stare at someone's assets, no matter how much on display they were.
Episcopalians are pretty thin on the ground in the central United States.
That's just not right," Sam muttered. "Claude needs to keep his pants on.
What I think I'll do is I'll do my best to yank Debbie out of me by the roots. And then I'll turn up on your doorstep, one day when you least expect it, and I'll hope by then you will have given up on your vampire.
I would've asked him to bring a shovel and come to help me dig a body up. That was what a boyfriend should do, right?" -Sookie Stackhouse
The god entered some women so completely that they became immortal, or very close to it. Bacchus was the god of the grape, of course, so bars are very interesting to maenads. In fact, so interesting that they don't like other creatures of darkness becoming involved. Maenads consider that the violence sparked by the consumption of alcohol belongs to them; that's what they feed off, now that no one formally worships their god. And they are attracted to pride.
Okay I've been stupid in the past. Not consistently stupid, but occasionally stupid. And I've made mistakes. You bet, I've made mistakes.
If I quit having fun, then it's time for me to quit working.
People are really interested in the concept of eternal youth in this plastic-surgery culture.
I love you,” Bill said helplessly, as if he wished those magic words would heal me. But he knew they wouldn’t. “That’s what you all keep saying,” I answered. “But it doesn’t seem to get me any happier.
I'm a middle-class former housewife who goes to my daughter's softball games.
Jason's favorite person in the entire universe was Jason Stackhouse.
I love him," I said, but even to my own ears I didn't sound happy about it.
My favorite fantasy? You come down into my daytime resting place stark naked," he said, and I could see the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. "Oh, wait," Bill said. "That's already happened.
If this were the fifties, she’d be checking Sam’s collars for lipstick stains. (Did people do that anymore? Why did women kiss collars, anyway? Besides, Sam almost always wore T-shirts.)
I freely admit I know nothing about television or writing for the screen.
Bill said, "She is mine." I wondered if my hands would move. They would. I raised both of them, making an unmistakable one-fingered gesture. Eric laughed, and Bill said "Sookie!" in shocked admonishment. "I think that Sookie is telling us she belongs to herself," Eric said softly.
Very few of my characters are totally heroic or totally villainous.
Life should imitate romance literature far more often.
The average woman would not be pondering how fast her date could kill her, but I’ll never be an average woman.
It was like being around a particularly irritating two-year-old.
I had never seen so many cute men in one place in my life. But I could tell they were not for me. Russell was like the gay vampire Hugh Hefner, and this was the Playboy Mansion, with an emphasis on the "boy.
Not one man in a million would have allowed me the time without speaking. I opened my mind, let my gaurd down completely, relaxed. His silence washed over me. I stood, closed my eyes, breathed out the relief that was too profound for words.
Okay," I said. "I'd hoped to avoid this, but... Bill, I rescind your invitation into my house." Bill began walking backward to the door, a helpless look on his face, and my brush still in his hand. Eric grinned at him triumphantly. "Eric," I said, and his smile faded. "I rescind your invitation into my house." And backward he went, out my door and off my porch. The door slammed shut behind (or maybe in front of?) them.
I added to my mental list of the odd things I'd done that day. I'd entertained the police, sunbathed, visited at a mall with some fairies, weeded and killed someone. Now it was powdered-corpse removal time. And the day wasn't over yet.
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