Best 75 quotes of Josh Lanyon on MyQuotes

The phone rang, picked up, and the same male voice announced, “Chris Powers." "Hey there, Chris. Are you aware it's a felony to make threats over the phone?" To give Powers his fair due, he got over his shock within a split second. “Try it, asshole. I dare you. My lawyers will have you for lunch.” He clicked off again. I did what any red-blooded American male would do. I called my big, ex-cop ex-boyfriend.

This is how God made me. You are how God made you. All God's chillun are made how God made 'em. You think God made a mistake, take it up with Him.

Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.

To find them all in one package...well, perhaps better not to dwell on his package in my fragile state.

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

We were locked onto each other as though we had just discovered this incredible thing you could do with two mouths pressing close and moist against each other. And the taste of him... Horrifyingly, unbearably sweet -- sweet in the way crack must feel hitting the bloodstream of an addict after years of staying clean.

What about stress? Are you using your stress-management techniques when things seem to be getting on top of you?' 'Nothing is getting on top of me.' As I said it, a totally inappropriate picture popped into my mind. 'What are you feeling?' Jake's breath warm against my face, my bruised lips tingling from his kisses. 'Tell me what it feels like with me inside you.

What I like about cooking is that, so long as you follow the recipe exactly, everything always turns out perfect. It’s too bad there’s no recipe for happiness. Happiness is more like pastry—which is to say that you can take pains to keep cool and not overwork the dough, but if you don’t have that certain light touch, your best efforts still fall flat. The work-around is to buy what you need. I’m talking about pastry, not happiness, although money does make things easier all around.

When you live with a potentially life-threatening condition you get used to the thought of dying. You accept it, you push on. The thing that scared me was the picture of dying slowly and painfully, the loss of independence and identity to illness.

You don't look so hot, Adrien." "Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day." His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it.

You got a little bit of an attitude, Mr. English, if you don't mind my saying so. I don't mind.

You know that thing about Death Be Not Proud? Well, Fear Be Not Proud either. And Fear Be Not Elegant. What Fear be is stumbling, bumbling flight, crashing through brush, slip-sliding on pine needles, sloshing through puddles that are always deeper than you expect.

You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.

You were the first in every way that counted.

Adult life is a series of compromises, Adrien.' 'Yeah, only you're negotiating with the Devil.' Still not looking at me, he growled, 'Oh, go to hell.' I raised my water in a toast. 'Sure. I'll follow the trail of bread crumbs you're scattering.

Being alone wasn't nearly as lonely as being with people who didn't love you

...do you have someone you can stay with? Hell, stay with your mother. The Pentagon doesn’t have the security system she’s got.” I really would rather die. “I’m not putting my mother in the path of a serial killer. Thanks for the thought.” “God help the serial killer who tackles your mother,” Riordan muttered.

How quickly, how neatly the chaos of a living person could be reduced to an insignificant box.

How sad that I couldn't get myself sober to share a life with him, but I could do it to show him I didn't need him.

I know that asshole you were with in college --” “Can we leave that asshole out of it?” Please, gentlemen, one asshole at a time.

It’s more believable that a cop would get involved in solving these murders. I mean, you’re talking about writing a series. How believable is it that this Hollywood gossip columnist is going to keep stumbling on all these murders?

I turned back to the television. After a while what I was staring at registered. “Hey, this is The Long Goodbye." Jake opened his eyes. “What?" "This movie. It's Robert Altman's take on Chandler's The Long Goodbye. ‘Nothing says good-bye like a bullet.’” "I don't know,” said Jake. “Sometimes the words are enough.

She didn‟t look like the athletic type to me.” “Maybe Nemov carried her. He looked like he could.” “He looked like he could carry his SUV. I don‟t know why he didn‟t.

Why can't you say it?" I hardened my voice. "Because I'm telling you, you never have. I'd have remembered." He stared at me with disbelief. [...] "Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.

You couldn't hurt a fly." Actually I was pretty good at pinging flies right out of the air, but I tried to look appropriately harmless.