“I like the way you've let your hair go curly," he finally said. "Suits your personality. Lots of energy, not much control, sexy as hell,"
Joe Morelli to Stephanie Plum”
“I'm telling you, it's fu**ing hard to be classy”
“In my opinion, the only good spider is a dead spider, and women's rights aren't worth dick if they mean I can't ask a man to do my bug squashing.”
“I attributed the incidence to temporary insanity, and in my own defense, I'd like to say I haven't run over anyone since.”
“You're a lunatic. You ran me over with a goddamn Buick.”
“I shot that sucker right in the gumpy."
Grandma Mazur”
“You're a marshmallow. Soft and sweet and when you get heated up you go all gooey and delicious."-”
“I had an alarm, I had nerve gas, I had a yogurt. What more could anyone want?”
“Are you afraid of me?
Uh... yes.'
The smile stayed fixed in place. 'You should be. You locked me in a refrigerator truck with three dead people. Sooner or later I'm going to get you for it.”
“There's me and then there's you, and you aren't ever going to be as good as me, Sweet Thing."
Ranger”
“Yeah. Almost as surprising as when you nailed me with your father's car."
In the interest of avoiding confrontation, I felt compelled to explain. I didn't feel obliged to do it convincingly. "It was an accident. My foot slipped."
"That was no accident. You jumped the goddamn curb and followed me down the sidewalk.”
“Nothing Personal? You've harrassed my mother, stolen my car, and now you're telling people I've gotten you pregnant! In my opinion, getting someone pregnant is pretty fucking personal! Jesus, isn't it enough I'm accused of murder? What are you the bounty hunter from hell?”
“You deserved to get run over. And besides, I barely tapped you. The only reason you broke your leg was because you panicked and tripped over your own feet.”
“I wasn't sure exactly how prostitutes determined price, but if men bought hookers by the pound, these two would be doing okay.”
“Jesus, Morelli, you sound like you have PMS. You have to learn to lighten up a little. It's just a car alarm. You should be thanking me. I had it installed with my own money.”
“From the look on your face, I'd say you know him."
I nodded. "Sold him a cannoli when I was in high school."
Connie grunted. "Honey, half of all the women in New Jersey have sold him their cannoli”
“It's fucking hard to be classy”
“Ranger appeared in the bathroom doorway and I was too relieved to be embarrassed. "I appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night," I said.
Ranger smiled. "I didn't want to miss seeing you chained up naked.”
“Suppose I lay down on the pavement and you run over me a few times with my own car...just for old times.”
“THERE ARE SOME MEN who enter a woman’s life and screw it up forever. Joseph Morelli did this to me—not forever, but periodically.”
“The way I see it, living in New Jersey is a challenge, what with the toxic waste and the eighteen wheelers and the armed schizophrenics."
Connie Rosolli”
“You deserved to get run over. And besides, I barely tapped you. The only reason you broke your leg was because you panicked and tripped over your own feet."
"You're lucky I didn't sue you."
"You're lucky I didn't put the car into reverse and back over you three or four times.”
“I want to see your tailpipe fading off into the sunset."
Good luck, I thought. My tailpipe was somewhere on Route 1, along with my muffler.”
“It's not the pizza, darlin', its my masculine presence."
Joe Morelli”
“He specializes in virgins! The brush of his fingertips turns virgins into slobbering mush."
Mary Lou Molnar”
“My body is not designed to run. My body was designed to sit in an expensive care and drive.”
“Does your mother know that you're carrying a gun? I'm going to tell her. I'm going to call and tell her right now."
She sent me a look of utter disgust and slammed the front door. I was 30-year-old and Mrs Morelli was going to tell my mother on me. Only in the burgh.”
“And the closest I've come to an out-of-body experience was when Joe Morelli took his mouth to me fourteen years ago, behind the eclair case. ”
“There are some men who enter a woman's life and screw it up forever.”
“Grandma Mazur stood two feet back from my mother. "I gotta get me a pair if those," she said, eyeballing my shorts. "I've still got pretty good legs, you know." She raised her skirt and looked down at her knees. "What do you think? You think I'd look good in them biker things?"
Grandma Mazur had knees like doorknobs.”
“Fly you crows. My father was not a spectacle. He was the greatest man I ever knew. He was my everything.”
“Perfectionism is a particularly evil lure for women, who, I believe, hold themselves to an even higher standard of performance than do men. There are many reasons why women’s voices and visions are not more widely represented today in creative fields. Some of that exclusion is due to regular old misogyny, but it’s also true that—all too often—women are the ones holding themselves back from participating in the first place. Holding back their ideas, holding back their contributions, holding back their leadership and their talents. Too many women still seem to believe that they are not allowed to put themselves forward at all, until both they and their work are perfect and beyond criticism. Meanwhile, putting forth work that is far from perfect rarely stops men from participating in the global cultural conversation. Just sayin’. And I don’t say this as a criticism of men, by the way. I like that feature in men—their absurd overconfidence, the way they will casually decide, “Well, I’m 41 percent qualified for this task, so give me the job!” Yes, sometimes the results are ridiculous and disastrous, but sometimes, strangely enough, it works—a man who seems not ready for the task, not good enough for the task, somehow grows immediately into his potential through the wild leap of faith itself. I only wish more women would risk these same kinds of wild leaps. But I’ve watched too many women do the opposite. I’ve watched far too many brilliant and gifted female creators say, “I am 99.8 percent qualified for this task, but until I master that last smidgen of ability, I will hold myself back, just to be on the safe side.” Now, I cannot imagine where women ever got the idea that they must be perfect in order to be loved or successful. (Ha ha ha! Just kidding! I can totally imagine: We got it from every single message society has ever sent us! Thanks, all of human history!) But we women must break this habit in ourselves—and we are the only ones who can break it. We must understand that the drive for perfectionism is a corrosive waste of time, because nothing is ever beyond criticism. No matter how many hours you spend attempting to render something flawless, somebody will always be able to find fault with it. (There are people out there who still consider Beethoven’s symphonies a little bit too, you know, loud.) At some point, you really just have to finish your work and release it as is—if only so that you can go on to make other things with a glad and determined heart. Which is the entire point. Or should be.”
“You might as well learn right now, you two, that the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say.”
“My thanks, Master.” He waved his hand. “It is what I do. If you wish to thank me, do a kindness for someone in need.”
“Aamah would sometimes remind them that the story of an old disputte should be retold only when no aftertaste of bitterness remains upon the tongue.”
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