Sentinel meeting tonight,” Ria told her. “At Lucas's place.” “Time?” ... “Seven. Sascha's doing dinner.” “God save us all.” Sascha had decided she liked cooking. Unfortunately, cooking didn't like her back.
If one could order a crime as one does a dinner, what would you choose? . . . Let’s review the menu. Robbery? Frogery? No, I think not. Rather too vegetarian. It must be murder—red-blooded murder—with trimmings, of course.
To not feel like such a “third wheel,” I rode my tricycle to the restaurant where they were having their first date. I didn’t bring my wallet, so I hope they don’t mind paying for my dinner too. Ah, but that’s life, no?
I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure, and it's very difficult to find anyone.' 'I should think so, in these parts. We're plain, quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things, they make you late for din...
Give me a small intimate gathering of five people, a dinner party, where one-on-one conversations can be had, where people talk about current events, good books, good food, and weird news. That was my idea of a good time.
I hate McDonald's. I don't want to order my dinner by yelling into a clown's mouth. If I want my face in a clown's mouth, I'll tongue kiss Glenn Beck.
He looked up at Stig and Hal. 'Told you this one was a keeper.' Lydia flushed as the two boys smiled. 'Shut up. You make sure you do your stuff with those two overgrown dinner bowls you call shields.
If I could just write it down in a piece of paper, then maybe she could get a decent night's sleep, eat a little of her dinner. Maybe she could have a minute's worth of peace.
The woman in this photo can’t believe what she’s hearing. And since it’s a photo, I can’t hear what she’s not believing. I’ll bet she doesn’t believe she’s not the killer.
Ruby has eyes that sparkle like emeralds. Or sapphires. Not too sure what color her eyes are, because I try to avoid eye contact with murder suspects—especially if they are sexy.
This guy looks like Humphrey Bogart with a beard. Makes me so jealous I could just stab him. And I would too, if I didn’t suspect him of holding a smoking gun.
When three women all ignore each other, and each ignores me, it reminds me of Dark Jar Tin Zoo’s definition of love. Love is isn’t—even when it isn’t.
Whenever I travel to the South, the first thing I do is visit the best barbecue place between the airport and my hotel. An hour or two later I visit the best barbecue place between my hotel and dinner.
Why is it we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated - defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Sill, to cease living is unacceptable.
Can I ask who you are, sir?" "Yeah, I expect so," said Strike, walking past him and ringing the doorbell. Anstis's dinner invitation notwithstanding, he was not feeling sympathetic to the police just now. "Should be just about within your capabilitie...
The restorative effect of a tasty dinner is quite remarkable. When the going gets tough, the tough get cooking.
We went out to a romantic dinner, and do you know how you can just tell when it’s the perfect moment to propose? Well, it wasn’t one of those moments—at least not with her. I ended up asking my waitress to marry me.
Kevyn, Ennesby tells me you are building a time machine. Actually I'm finished. In one afternoon? Wow... Does it work? After a fashion. ... I put a whole lot of energy into it, and the next thing I knew it was time for dinner. -Captain Tagon & Comman...
Such is life. It is no cleaner than a kitchen; it reeks like a kitchen; and if you mean to cook your dinner, you must expect to soil your hands; the real art is in getting them clean again, and therein lies the whole morality of our epoch.
Life, it turns out, goes on. There is no cosmic rule that grants you immunity from the details just because you have come face-to-face with a catastrophe. The garbage can still overflow, the bills arrive in the mail, telemarketers, interrupt dinner.
Art is like a kite with an airplane propeller, OK? Artists are like people who have scuba tanks for lungs, OK? And critics are like a box of forgotten leftovers in my fridge from a few years ago, except they’re not as welcome at my dinner table, OK...
