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Post-traumatic shock,' said Shaun. 'He thinks he's a boa constrictor.

Mira Grant

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Mira Grant
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Shock
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Constrictor
Shaun
Traumatic

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His idea of traffic safety is going too fast for the cops to catch up.
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I've done tangos with men who thought my ass was a squeaky toy.
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I feel the closest to crazy when I'm disagreeing with the voice in my head
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We all make mistakes. Luckily for us, there are very few mistakes that cant be solved with a suitable application of either lipstick or hand grenades - Frances Brown
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I’m a cat. We aren’t required to make sense.
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Who would come for her? he snarled, rallying. Behind me, a voice shouted, Tybalt, King of Cats. My claim precedes yours.
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Blood is one thing, but that’s not all that goes into family. The family you choose is the family that really matters. They’re the ones who’ll keep you standing.
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And then everything was in the hands of gravity, which has never had much love for the terminally stupid.
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We are in the middle of what looks increasingly like the zombie apocalypse. Moaning people don't need help. Moaning people are intending to eat us.
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Madness is surprisingly freeing.
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Me, I say those are all great things to live for, if they're what happens to float your boat, but at the end of the day, there's got to be somebody you're doing it for. Just one person you're thinking of everytime you make a decision, everytime you tell the truth, or tell a lie, or anything. I've got mine. Do you?
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I recommend Avon Skin-So-Soft. It’s a bath product. It smells like someone fed a Disney Princess through a juicer, but it works better than anything else on the market.
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Never tempt fate. It plays for keeps.
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People say things like it wasn't supposed to go this way and this isn't what I wanted. They're just making noise. There's no such thing as supposed to, and what you want doesn't matter. All that matters is what happened.
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When you're late in a fairy tale, people wind up dead. And not true-love's-kiss, glass-coffin-nap-time dead. Really dead, the kind of dead you don't recover from.
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Just once, I want to meet the villain in a cheerful, brightly lit room. Possibly one with kittens.
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Are you ever not a pessimist? Sometimes. But then I wake up.
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They come to us, these restless dead, Shrouds woven from the words of men, With trumpets sounding overhead (The walls of hope have grown so thin And all our vaunted innocence Has withered in this endless frost) That promise little recompense For all we risk, for all we've lost.
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That’s where the dreams end: with the realization that it doesn’t matter where I am, whether I think I’m a woman or a fish or something in-between. I’ve never really left the pond. I still can’t breathe.
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