“Some old guy once said that the meaning of life is that it ends.”
“Imagine the uproar if the Federal government tried to make everyone wear a radio transmitter around their neck so we can keep track of their movements. But people happily carry their cell phones in their purses and pockets.”
“A handgun at two hundred feet is the same thing as crossing your fingers and making a wish.”
“It gives me some kind of chance to survive the night."
"How are those better odds? If you come back with me, you're guaranteed to survive the night."
"No," Reacher said. "If I come back with you, I'm guaranteed to die of shame.”
“And most people stick to underwear from their country of origin.” “Do they?” “As a general rule. It’s a comfort issue, literally and metaphorically. And an intimacy issue. It’s a big step, putting on foreign underwear. Like betrayal, or emigration.”
“Foreign, for sure. But we all bleed the same color red. No doubt about that. The truth of that statement was plain to see. Reacher put the guy out of misery. A single shot, close range, behind the ear. An unnecessary round expended, but good manners had a price”
“At one point they said they were heading to”
“an average infantryman records one enemy fatality for every fifteen thousand combat rounds expended.”
“Resolute, responsible, determined, knowledgeable, and perceptive”
“As a general rule. it's a comfort issue, literally and metaphorically. And intimacy issue. It's a big step, putting on foreign underwear. Like betrayal, or emigration.”
“Does this thing have fast forward?” Sorenson asked. “Hold down the shift key,” the kid said.”
“Suppose twenty years ago Congress had proposed a law saying every citizen had to wear a radio transponder around his neck, all day and all night, so the government could track him wherever he went. Can you imagine the outrage? But instead the citizens went right ahead and did it to themselves. In their pockets and purses, not around their necks, but the outcome is the same.”
“Reacher remembered a line from an old song: Set the controls for the heart of the sun.”
“Reacher prowled the hallway, his gun stiff-armed way out in front of him, his torso jerking violently left and right from the hips, like a crazy disco dance. The house-storming shuffle.”
“Reacher killed the lights and squeezed back through the slit in the plastic. He crossed the empty”
“Iowa had a quarter of America’s best-grade topsoil all to itself, and therefore it was at the head of the list when it came to corn and soybeans and hogs and cattle.”
“I bet he burned real well. All that fat? I bet he went up like a lamb chop on a barbecue.” King said nothing. Reacher said, “You would too, probably. You’re not much thinner. Is it a genetic thing? Was your momma fat as well as ugly?” No”
“I’m wide open to ideas, Agent”
“Reacher said, ‘Do you have an accurate headcount?’
McQueen said, ‘Twenty-four tonight, not including me.’
‘Six left, then.’
‘Is that all? Jesus.’
‘I’ve been here at least twenty minutes.”
“Perhaps he would glance down and see that he was doing 76 miles an hour, and he would see that 76 squared was 5,776, which ended in 76, where it started, which made 76 an automorphic number, one of only two below 100, the other being 25, whose square was 625, whose square was 390,625, which”
“They may never be able to prove it.”
“volume up high and played the recording one”
“Both had been taken out of front-line service after the Gulf War in 1991. Neither had proved sufficiently durable. Their task had been to haul Abrams battle tanks around. Battle tanks were built for tank battles, not for driving from A to B on public roads. Roads got ruined, tracks wore out, between-maintenance hours were wasted unproductively. Hence tank transporters. But Abrams tanks weighed more than sixty tons, and wear and tear on the HETs was prodigious. Back to the drawing board. The old-generation hardware was relegated to lighter duties. But”
“Why don’t you live anywhere?” “Do you have a house?” “Of course.” “Is it a pure unalloyed pleasure?” “Not entirely.” “So there’s your answer.”
“Reacher had no patience for people who claimed that y was a vowel.”
“What are you, in love with her?" Travis says. "You're staring like an idiot."
The weird thing is, I think I am.”
“The warm of his voice touched a quickness in her that left her fingers trembling as she raised the candle. “Will you light this please? I need it to find my way back.”
He ignored her request and reached to take the lantern from the wall. “I’ll take you upstairs.”
“It isn’t necessary,” she was quick to insist, afraid for more reasons than one.
“I’d never forgive myself if some harm came to you down here,” he responded lightly. He lifted the lantern, casting its glow before them, and waited on her pleasure with amused patience. Erienne saw the challenge in his eyes and groaned inwardly. How could she refuse to pick up the gauntlet when she knew he would taunt her with his chiding humor if she did not? Adjusting the oversize coat about her shoulders, she rose to the bait against her better judgment and moved with him along the stony corridor. They were well past the bend when a sudden scurrying accompanied by strident squeaking came from the darkness. At the sound, Erienne stumbled back with a gasp, having an intense aversion for the rodents. In the next instant, the heel of her slipper caught on a rock lip, twisting her ankle and nearly sending her sprawling. Almost before the cry of pain was wrenched from her lips, Christopher’s arms were about her, and he used the excuse to bring her snugly against his own hard body. Embarrassed by the contact that brought bosom to chest and thigh to thigh and made her excruciatingly aware of his masculinity, Erienne pushed hurriedly away. She tried to walk again, anxious to be away, but when her weight came down on her ankle, a quick grimace touched her features. Christopher caught her reaction and, without so much as a murmured pardon, took the coat from her shoulders, pressed the lantern in her hand, and lifted her up in his arms.
“You can’t take me upstairs!” she protested. “What if you’re seen?”
The lights danced in his eyes as he met her astonished stare. “I’m beginning to think, madam, that you worry more about propriety than yourself. Most of the servants are in bed asleep.”
“But what if Stuart comes?” she argued. “You said he’s on his way.” Christopher chuckled.
“Meeting him now would be most interesting. He might even challenge me to a duel over your honor.” He raised a brow at her. “Would you be grieved if he wounded me?”
“Don’t you realize a thing like that could happen?” she questioned, angry because he dismissed the possibility with flippant ease.
“Don’t fret, my love,” he cajoled with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “If I hear him coming, I’ll run, and as clumsy as he is, he’ll never be able to catch me.”
He shifted her weight closer against him and smiled into her chiding stare. “I like the way you feel in my arms.”
“Remember yourself, sir,” she admonished crisply, ignoring her leaping pulse.
“I’m trying, madam. I’m really trying.”
-Erienne & Christopher”
“(Looking at their son on ultrasound.)
He looks like an angel. (Cassandra)
I don’t know. I think he looks like a frog or something. (Wulf)”
“Passion is of the nature of seed, and finds nourishment within, tending to a predominance which determines all currents towards itself, and makes the whole life its tributary.”
“Life is messy. Would that every puzzle piece fell into place, every word was kind, every accident happy, but such is not the case. Life is messy. People, generally, suck. This”
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