Don't 'honey' Me In That Southern-fried Twang.

Life Has Very Little Even Ground.

My Fondest Wish, I Suppose, Would Be To Die At The Keyboard Right After Finishing A Book, Perhaps With A Little Time Off To Have Some Really Good Sex. It's Not, 'oh, Thank God, This Is Book No. 250. I Can Die Now.'

Eve: "she Had Big Plans For Me. Kind Of A Pet, I Imagine. Like William. Her Little Trained Dog. And With You Dead, She Figured I'd Inherit All Your Goodies. You're Not Going To Do That To Me Are You?" Roarke: "what, Die?" Eve: "leave Me All This Stuff." Roarke: "only You Would Be Annoyed By That.

Women Are The Worst. They Zero In On Some Guy.oh Boy, He's The One, Gotta Get Me That One. So They Do. Then They Spend The Rest Of Their Time Trying To Figure Out How To Change Him. Then If They Manage It, They're Not All That Interested Anymore, Because Guess What? He's Not The One Anymore.

It's About Us. It's About Trust.