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A proper lady should be able to smile pretty, wear sequins like she means it, and kick a man's ass nine ways from Sunday while wearing stiletto heels. If she can't do that much, she's not trying hard enough.

Mira Grant

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Are you ever not a pessimist? Sometimes. But then I wake up.
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The Argentine tango isn't here to play nicely with the other children. The Argentine tango is here to seduce your women, spill things on your rug, and sneak out your bedroom window in the middle of the night.
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I was still wearing my shoes. The staff was paid to wash the sheets after every visit, and by the point we left the field, I’d dressed and undressed so many times in the course of decontamination that I never wanted to remove my clothes again. I’d just wear them until they dissolved, and then spend the rest of my life naked.
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Remember what I said about the mosquitoes? Which part asked Maggie. The scary part, the really scary part, the legitimately terrifying part, or the part that makes suicide sound like an awesome way to spend the evening?
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He said that he was sure you would be amendable to this course of action. April paused, eyes widening, before she said indignantly, I believe he may have lied to me!
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Sometimes in the news, luck is just a matter of capitalizing on someone else's pain.
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I really don’t think you should put your hand inside the manticore, dear. You don’t know where it’s been.” –Enid Healy
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I am a zombie fan, but all of the zombie stories Ive enjoyed started when the dead rose and ended three days later with everybody looking exhausted. I was thinking, What happens in 20 years?
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You really can't go home again. Sometimes, that's a good thing. Sometimes, when you try, you find out that home isn't really there anymore... but that it wasn't only in your head before. Home actually existed. Home wasn't just a dream. Sometimes, that's the best thing of all.
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May posterity show mercy when it look back upon the work we do today. We did what we could with what we had.
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There is nothing so patient, in this world or any other, as a virus searching for a host.
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A martyr's just a casualty with really good PR.
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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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I'll challenge senators and kings for the right to know the truth, but far be it from me to challenge a woman in her own kitchen.
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I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.
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Never steal another reporter's story never take the last of another reporter's ammo never mess with another reporter's computer. Those are the rules, unless you work for a tabloid, where they replace never with always.
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She told the truth as she saw it, and she died for it. I came along for the ride, and I lived. It wasn't worth it. But it was the truth, and it was what had to happen.
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We were the ones on scene when everything went down. We weren't better. We weren't worse. We were just the ones standing in the blast radius.
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There weren’t any fairy tales in the streets around me. If there was ever a Cinderella, her glass slippers shattered under her weight and she limped home bleeding from the ball.
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This is Shaun Mason activating security protocol Campbell. The bridge is out, the trees are coming, and I’m pretty sure my hand is evil. Now gimme some sugar, baby.
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