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I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Good
Sweat
Men
Guys
Love
Sort
Guy
Making
Means
Mean
Different
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More quotes by Darynda Jones

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After a long, labored sigh, I said, “She was really happy when I got there. I’m pretty sure she was suicidal when I left.” “You do have that effect on people.
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Paperwork wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the paper. And the work.
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I went down like a drunken cowgirl trying to line dance to Metallica.
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The dead guy looked at me with wide eyes. “I can’t move my legs.” I snorted. “You can’t move your arms either, or your feet or your freaking eyelids. You’re dead.
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He had given me so much information, I wanted some time to absorb it all, but I didn't want to leave him. Not like this. Not ever, as long as I lived. Or until I had to get back on the case. Whichever came first.
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His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by candelight.
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I could hardly be responsible for my actions when everyone around me gave me every opportunity to sink to their low expectations.
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An integral part of any best friend's job is to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
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I was just passing by. Saw the commotion. Figured you were involved.
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Glitch was about as wild and unpredictable as a carrot stick.
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Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean's existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.
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I'd have a longer attention span if there weren't so many shiny things.
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A Nuns Life: Chastity, poverty, and obedience. Wait, chastity? BUMPER STICKER
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My real mom died when I was born—hemorrhaged to death while giving birth to me, which has never been one of my favorite memories—and Dad married Denise before I’d turned a year. Without even asking my opinion on the matter. Denise and I never really clicked.
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That you honestly believe I am capable of hurting innocent people for no reason.” “You’re not?” I asked, hope softening my voice. “Oh, no, I’m more than capable. I just didn’t realize you knew that.
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Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit. Well, you are pretty fruity.
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Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.
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See you in a few. Hold down the fort, Mr. Wong!
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She shook her head then took off again, and I found myself struggling to keep up with her in my bunny slippers. With a sigh, I realized I was getting way too much exercise. I'd just have to counteract it later with cake.
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Apparently, this really was Kill Charley Davidson Week. Or at least Horribly Maim Her.... It would probably never get government recognition, though, destined to be underappreciated like Halloween or Thesaurus Day.
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