A. Rose Ross

“Dresden’s not gone,” I said. I touched a hand lightly to my brow. “He’s here.” I touched Will’s bare chest, on the left side. “Here. Without him, without what he’s done over the years, you and I would never have been able to pull this off.”
“No,” he agreed. “Probably not. Definitely not.”
“There are a lot of people he’s taught. Trained. Defended. And he’s been an example. No single one of us can ever be what he was. But together, maybe we can.”
― Jim Butcher, Side Jobs

“Faeries like pizza?" I asked.
"Oh, Harry," Toot said breathlessly. "Haven't you ever had pizza before?"
"Of course I have," I said.
Toot looked wounded. "And you didn't share?”
― Jim Butcher, Storm Front

“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, Changes

“Screw up my life?" He stared at me for a second and then said, deadpan, "I'm a five-foot-three, thirty-seven-year-old, single, Jewish medical examiner who needs to pick up his lederhosen from the dry cleaners so that he can play in a one-man polka band at Oktoberfest tomorrow." He pushed up his glasses with his forefinger, folded his arms, and said, "Do your worst.”
― Jim Butcher, Dead Beat