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Kids. You gotta love them. I adore children. A little salt, a squeeze of lemon--perfect.

Jim Butcher

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Jim Butcher
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: October 26
Actor
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Independence
Missouri
Children
Lemons
Love
Adore
Salt
Gotta
Perfect
Kids
Littles
Lemon
Little
Squeeze

More quotes by Jim Butcher

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It isn't enough to stand up and fight darkness. You've got to stand apart from it, too. You've got to be different from it.
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When I finally got tired of arguing with her and decided to write a novel as if I was some kind of formulaic, genre writing drone, just to prove to her how awful it would be, I wrote the first book of the Dresden Files.
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It would require a singularly stupid man to go hang around in narrow tunnels and cramped spaces alongside a threat like that. And I, Harry Dresden, am that man, I stated.
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How long have you been a Wiccan?' 'A what?' 'A pagan. A witch.' 'I'm not a witch,' I said, glancing out the door. 'I'm a wizard.' Sanya frowned. 'What is the difference?' 'Wizard has a Z' He looked at me blankly. 'No one appreciates me.' I muttered.
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There aren't any magical words, really. Words just hold the magic.
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In the name of the Pizza Lord. Charge!
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If I was on the road to Hell, at least I was going in style.
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Even in winter, the cold isn't always bitter, and not every day is cruel.
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Time after time, history demonstrates that when people don't want to believe something, they have enormous skills of ignoring it altogether.
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Like “love,” “hope” is one of those ridiculously disproportional words that by all rights should be a lot longer.
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...you look like you fell out of a crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down.
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Its amazing waht you can get used to if your daily allowance of bizarre is high enough.'......Harry Dresden
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Billy squinted at me. Why are you letting them go? Because they're real. How do you know? The one I was holding crapped on my hand.
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I do not need the written code of a spiritual belief to act like a decent human being.
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It turns out that Molly wasn't her mother's daughter in that respect. Charity was like the MacGuyver of the kitchen. She could whip up a five-course meal for twelve from an egg, two spaghetti noodles, some household chemicals, and a stick of chewing gum. Molly ... Molly once burned my egg. My boiled egg. I don't know how.
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All right. Tell me what I'm looking at. From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, A giant pair of cartoon lips. I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd! Bob said.
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Because nothing says flattery like a gun to the head.
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The fire of my tribulations had not simply been pain to be endured. It had been an agent of transformation. After all that I'd been through, I'd changed. Not for the worse, I was pretty sure--at least not yet. But only a moron or a freaking lunatic could have faced the things I had and remained unfazed by them.
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Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don't feel it.
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The building was on fire, and it wasn’t my fault.
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