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When fighting clowns, always go for the juggler.
Darynda Jones
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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
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Friona
Texas
Clowns
Clown
Fighting
Always
Juggler
Jugglers
More quotes by Darynda Jones
Want coffee? I asked, as I headed that way. It's three thirty in the morning. Okay. Want coffee?
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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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A sheriff arrested me. I could be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure my men-in-uniform fetish began that day. The sheriff was hot. And he handcuffed me. I've never been the same.
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I could be irksome when I put my left ventricle into it.
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I was white. Chalk had more color than I did. And quite possibly more personality.
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Man, that woman was quick when she wanted to be. But put her behind the wheel of a Buick.
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Hello? I said, because Charley's House of Pasties seemed wrong.
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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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guys have feelings too. But like...who cares? -Inspirational poster
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Who is Dr. A. von Holstein? And is he related, by chance, to a race of cows?
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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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I noticed you tore down Donovan's house. He lifted his gaze until it locked with mine. He's alive because he left town. His house chose to stay. It paid the price.
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I lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Not just yet. She could turn out to be psychotic. Or a door-to-door salesperson.
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I'd never taken to four foot creatures who had the uncanny ability to point out all my flaws in thirty second flat. And just for the record, I can too read without moving my lips.
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Reyes leaned back against the bar, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me from beneath those same ridiculously long lashes. Men and their freaking lashes. It was so unfair. Like the exorbitant cost of designer shoes. Or world hunger.
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He’d actually hit me! It didn’t matter that hitting me wasn’t really like hitting a regular girl and I’d be completely healed in a matter of hours. I was still a freaking girl, and he damned well knew it. I’d just have to hit him back. With a lead pipe. Or an eighteen-wheeler.
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Let me express how much I don't care on a scale of one to bite me, the former detective said.
Darynda Jones
Charley: If you‘re not going to tell me where you are, if you‘re not going to trust me to help you, then why are you here? Why bother? Reyes: Because you‘re the reason I breathe.
Darynda Jones
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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“Time-out,” I said... He twisted his hand around and wound his fingers into mine. “You‘re putting me in time-out?” “Yes,” I said as a shaky sigh slid through my lips. “If I don't go, do I get a spanking?”
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