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Because nothing says flattery like a gun to the head.

Jim Butcher

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Jim Butcher
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: October 26
Actor
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Independence
Missouri
Flattery
Gun
Says
Head
Nothing
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If your opponent has you by fifty pounds, winning a fight against him is a dubious proposition, at best. If your opponent has you by eight thousand and fifty pounds, you’ve left the realm of combat and enrolled yourself in Road-kill 101. Or possibly in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
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Because a sound tree doesn't have bad roots, Amara. No enterprise of greatness begins with treachery, with lying to the people who trust and love you
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It isn't good to hold on too hard to the past. You can't spend your whole life looking back. Not even when you can't see what lies ahead. All you can do is keep on keeping on, and try to believe that tomorrow will be what it should be—even if it isn't what you expected.
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Punctuality is for people with nothing better to do
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Here had lived someone else who knew that the only thing waiting at home was a sense of loneliness. Sometimes it is comforting. Most often, it isn't.
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I'm not a philosopher, Harry, [Michael] said. But here's something for you to think about, at least. What goes around comes around. And sometimes you get what's coming around. He paused for a moment, frowning faintly, pursing his lips. And sometimes you are what's coming around.
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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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I had to smile at the man. I mean, you have to smile at idiots and children.
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He's Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull, with a big leather coat and a .44 revolver in his pocket.
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Dresden. Am I interrupting something? Well, I was going to settle down with a porn video and a bottle of baby oil, but I really don't have enough for two.
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Night wasn't so much falling as sharpening its claws.
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Pansy, Murphy sneered. Thomas leered at her. You make my stamen tingle when you talk like that, Sergeant.
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Do you want your blood to stay where it is sochar-lar? Tavi lifted both eyebrows at the unfamiliar word, and glanced at Varg. Monkey, Varg supplied, in Aleran. And male-child. He called me monkey boy? Tavi asked.
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No one is an unjust villain in his own mind. Even - perhaps even especially those who are the worst of us. Some of the cruelest tyrants in history were motivated by noble ideals, or made choices they would call hard but necessary for the good of their nation. We're all the hero of our own story.
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Kincaid, evidently exhausted himself, drew a gun, took the safety off, placed it on his chest, and went to sleep too. It's cute, I whispered to Murphy. He has a teddy Glock.
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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.
Jim Butcher
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Oh, I forgot to mention it: My brother is the kind of man whom women stalk. In cooperative packs.
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No rest for the wicked, Bob, and that means that we can't slack off either, or they'll outwork us.
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Sheep can befriend a hungry wolf only for briefly.
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Molly blinked, then looked at Thomas and said, Wait a minute.... We're his flunkies. You, may be, Thomas said, sneering. I'm his thug. I'm way higher than a flunky. You are high if you think I'm taking any orders from you, Molly said tartly.
Jim Butcher