Best 36 quotes of Sandra Brown on MyQuotes

Ah, but being in love made you mean and crazy. Love made you act like a fool even when you knew you were acting like a fool and couldn't help yourself from acting like a fool.

And then he pressed into her. First his thighs, then his middle, his chest, and finally his mouth. She made a whimpering sound, but its definition was unclear even to her, until she realized that her arms had gone around him instinctually, and that she was clutching his back, his shoulders, her hands restless and greedy for the feel of him. He kissed her openmouthed, using his tongue, and when she kissed back, she felt the hum that vibrated deep inside his chest. It was the kind of hungry sound she hadn’t heard in a long time. Masculine and carnal, it thrilled and aroused her.

Be prepared to work hard to be a writer.

Even knowing the ending was sad, I wouldn't have deprived myself the beauty of the story.

Extraordinary beauty can be a curse to the one who possesses it. one pays a dear price for fame and fortune

For each book, there's a back story of where the idea came from. Sometimes it's derived from a current event or topic of discussion. Often it begins with a character. And often, I have NO idea what sparked the idea. It's just there.

He lifted his gaze to the framed photograph of Tanya and him taken on their wedding day. God, she had been lovely. Her smile had come through her eyes straight from her heart. He had known unequivocally that she loved him. He believed to this day that she had died knowing that he loved her. How could she not know? He had dedicated his life to never letting her doubt it.

He won't hurt me. I have a secret weapon.

I came to write after several mini careers. I did live theatre, managed a cosmetics store and was a local television personality.

I don't panic unless I have to. Wastes energy.

I have no personal knowledge of, or experience with, paramilitary hate groups, or heart transplantation, or escapees from maximum security prisons, or what it's like to be profoundly deaf. But I've written about all these topics, and the books became bestsellers. I figure that if something interests me, there's a reasonably good chance that it's going to interest the reader, too. As I approach my keyboard each day, I remind myself to have a good time - as good a time as one can have doing the hardest work there is.

I love being the bad guy, simply because I was always so responsible, so predictable growing up.

i'm going to marry you. i thought you'd like to know in case you wanted to buy a dress or something.

I'm sure you could have. Fending off unwanted male attention is a skill every attractive woman must acquire. But you're also a lady who was reluctant to cause a scene.. (Hammond Cross)

I think of my books now as suspense novels, usually with a love story incorporated. They're absolutely a lot harder to write than romances. They take more plotting and real character development.

I try to weave a secret into each plot. It's the thread that holds the rest of the story fabric together. In fact, it's the reason for the story. I hint at the secret early on. Immediately I want the reader to get the feeling that something here isn't quite right. It helps maintain the suspense if a puzzling element is introduced in the first few pages of the book, but the answer isn't revealed until the final ones. Hopefully, readers want to know what the heck is really going on, and it's the desire to find out that keeps them turning pages.

Life was precious. Life was fragile. Here one moment, gone the next. Every second should be milked for all it's worth because you never know when the bottom was going to drop out.

Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again.

People adjust their behavior to fit the society they live in. They integrate because they have to. But what they are on the inside doesn't change.

People don't care how smart woman is as long as she's charming and gay and pretty.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe you. You can’t be a cop.” “Not a cop.” “Federal agent?” “FBI.” “Even more unlikely.” “J. Edgar rolls over in his grave every day, but that’s the way it is.

Should men and women be equal in all things? Absolutely. But I'm old-fashioned in that I like the differences between the sexes. My male characters are neither Neanderthals nor Prince Charmings. They're flawed.

What do you want? What are you willing to give up to get it? Writing requires you make sacrifices. Be prepared to work hard to be a writer.

And the longer she holds out, the more you want it, and the more you want it, the blinder you get. There is a direct correlation, you know, between a stiff dick and blind stupidity.

Dispensing with the frivolity, he kissed her meaningfully. When at last he pulled away, her troubled expression alarmed him. "What?" "Be careful, Hammond." "No one will know I was here." She shook her head. "Not that." "Then what?" "You may have to put me on trial for my life. Please be careful that you don't make me fall in love with you first.

Dodge, I'm going to tell you something." "Judging by your tone, you're going to have to kill me after. Frankly, I'd just as soon not known.

From what I know of you already, you have quite a reputation for providing customer satisfaction." Julie's cheeks burned. For Kate's benefit she said, "I try." "Oh, I'm certain you do more than try. You go all out." He paused for several beats. Then, "I've driven past the gallery thousands of times and always admired the works displayed in the windows. But I haven't had a reason to stop." "And now you did?" "Now I did." She drew herself up. "Well, I'm sure Katherine will find the perfect piece for you. She's very knowledgeable." "He came to see you." "That's right, Ms. Rutledge. Not that Ms. Fields isn't perfectly charming and, I'm sure, knowledgeable." He shot Kate a smile over his shoulder, which she returned before he came back around to Julie. "But I'm placing myself in your very capable hands.

GOD works in mysterious ways

He'd been such a solid presence beside her, Strong, warm, vibrant. So different from that form beneath the sheet in the mougue

His gut was stitched up good and tight, but that didn’t prevent it from flopping. He wiped his damp palms on the legs of his jeans and stood up shakily, leaning heavily on his cane. He called himself a masochist for putting himself through this torture day after day. He braced himself for the disappointment of having to go home alone. He braced himself for happiness like he’d never known in his entire life. He watched the door they would come through.

If you wanted to kill me, why haven't you smothered me in my sleep?" "No sport in that." She gestured towards the ceiling. "Can I expect to be strung up on that bar and gutted like a deer?" He looked up at the bar and frowned. "Too much sport. Lots of heave-hoeing. Big mess to clean up after. Instead, why don't you just drink the poison-laced whiskey?" He extended the glass toward her again and when she didn't move he said, "No? Okay then." He shot the drink. She might not want the edge taken off but he sure as hell did.

Nobody speaks smut to my wife and gets away with it.

People reveal as much by their silence as they do by what they say.

Please forgive me, Mother. I apologize for saying 'fuck.'" Then he straightened and addressed Doug. "Which, by the way, was repeated sixty-seven times in this particular film. It has a running length of ninety-four minutes. So last night while watching it, she heard fuck, or a derivative thereof, spoken every one and a half minutes, give or take a few seconds. But if my saying fuck offended her, then I'm fucking sorry.

The F word turns me on, she whispered. The F word? Food He threw back his head and laughed. It rumbled up out of his chest and felt so good it startled him. For the first time in years,his laughter was spontaneous. It wasn`t tinged with bitterness and cynicism.

You can only write by putting words on a paper one at a time.