Marc

“If you don't like someone's story, write your own.”
― Chinua Achebe

“You got a boyfriend or something?”
I hate it when he figures me out before I have a chance to do it myself.
Especially when I’ve been counting on at least seven more years of denial.”
― Steve Kluger, Almost Like Being in Love

“Mary Lou et moi, on est amies depuis qu’on est toutes petites. J’étais le boute-en-train de service, et elle, le cancre de la classe. « Cancre » n’est peut-être pas le mot juste. Disons que ses objectifs n’étaient pas très hauts. Elle voulait se marier et fonder une famille. Et si elle pouvait épouser le capitaine d’une équipe de foot, c’était encore mieux. [...]
Moi, à la même époque, je rêvais d’épouser Aladin pour qu’il m’emmène sur son tapis volant. Donc, vous voyez : on n’avait pas les mêmes valeurs.”
― Janet Evanovich, Four to Score

“Eat slowly," the blueblood said. "Don't cut your food with the fork. Cut it with the knife, and make the pieces small enough so you can answer a question without having to swallow first."

Why me? "Right. Any other tips?" Her sarcasm whistled right over his head.

"Yes. Look at me and not at your plate. If you have to look at your plate, glance at it occasionally."

Rose put down her fork. "Lord Submarine..."

"Camarine."

"Whatever."

"You can call me Declan." He said it as if granting her a knighthood. The nerve.

"Declan, then. How did you spend your day?"

He frowned.

"It's a simple question: How did you spend your day? What did you do prior to the fight and the pancake making?"

"I rested from my journey," he said with a sudden regal air.

"You took a nap"

"Possibly."

"I spent my day scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting ten offices in the Broken. I got there at seven thirty in the morning and left at six. My back hurts, I can still smell bleach on my fingers, and my feet feel as flat as these pancakes. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work, and I want to eat my food in peace and quiet. I have good table manners. They may not be good enough for you, but they're definitely good enough for the Edge, and they are the height of social graces in this house. So please keep your critique to yourself."

The look on his face was worth having him under her roof. As if he had gotten slapped.

She smiled at him. "Oh and thank you for the pancakes. They are delicious.”
― Ilona Andrews, On the Edge