Quote

Then I found it: the source of the blood, the place where he'd been shot. 'Total?' I said, and I got a slight whimper. 'You have a boo-boo on your tail.

James Patterson

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James Patterson
Age: 77
Born: 1947
Born: March 22
Actor
Advertising Person
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Philanthropist
Screenwriter
Television Producer
Newburgh
New York
James Brendan Patterson
James B. Patterson
Found
Tail
Place
Slight
Tails
Total
Shot
Shots
Source
Blood
Whimper

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Listen up,” I said urgently. “It’s time to round up your gear. I’m gonna check in with Patrick, and then we’re getting the flock out of here.” Ha-ha.
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Home is wherever we all are together.
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Fang swerved closer to me, big and supremely graceful, like a black panther with wings. Oh, God. I'm so stupid. Forget I just said that. He needs a Band-Aid, I said. A look passed between me and Fang, full of suppressed humor, relief, understanding,love — Forget I said that too. I don't know what's wrong with me.
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For many years I had heard about an underworld consisting of people who act out a vampire fantasy while I was living in New York. Fortunately for me there are also several books on the phenomena.
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I'm a girl of extremes. When I love something, I'm like a puppy dog (without all the licking). When I'm cranky, I'm a wasp (like a whole hive of 'em). And when I'm angry, I'm a Mother Bear with a predator after her cubs: Dangerous.
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I don't damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.
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I whirled around and saw no one. No psychotic mad scientists, anyway. Jackpot, Max! Jackpot! It was was Fang, and he was giggling hysterically. For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn't giggle. Especially hysterically. So for a second, this seemed like one of the weirder dreams of recent days.
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SITTING TIGHT? Holing up? Waiting for answers? Those are things I'm not good at. Planning a massive attack against mechanical geeky-like things when i was already furious and itching to kill something? Piece o'cake
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Fang was going to kill me. And after I was dead, he would kill me again.
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Love means you can never be apart.
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Tears were dripping onto my dress, but I wasn't making any sound. There was no sound to express thid kind of pain. I didn't want to move, didn't want to do anything. Fang was not waiting for me out in the living room. Tomorrow morning, when I woke up, Fang would still be gone.
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I flipped down the visor so I could check myself in the mirror, and something small and heavy dropped into my lap. I froze, my breath stuck in my throat. What—? Gingerly, I looked down. It wasn’t a grenade. It was a key ring. One key was for this van. I looked at it blankly. “Well, that’ll simplify things,” Fang said.
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The writing in Mission to Paris, sentence after sentence, page after page, is dazzling. If you are a John le Carr fan, this is definitely a novel for you.
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I'm a very good storyteller I have a lot of compassion for people. That's very useful for a novelist. A lot of novelists are snots. They're just mean people. I'm not a terribly skilled stylist, nor do I want to be. I want a lot of people to read one of my stories and go, 'That was pretty cool.'
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When your own romantic life is falling apart, everyone else's looks fabulous.
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It is my time. The time of maximum ride.
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If you love something let it go.. if it comes back its yours
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I don't know about the rest of you who have little voices, but something about mine made me feel completely compelled to listen to it.
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Bad stuff happens. Sometimes it makes no sense at all. Sometimes its unfair. Sometimes, it just plain sucks. Bad stuff happens sometimes. Always remember that, but remember that you have to move on somehow. You just pick your head up and stare at something beautiful like the sky, or the ocean, and you move the hell on.
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why can't you just get out of here and leave me alone?i bellowed. i can't! dylan shouted back,his face twisted with an anger i'd never seen from him. you can,i said through gritted teeth.just point your wings that way and flap!
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