““It was an old passion,” he said. “I haven’t touched a violin for months. I didn’t know what that would be like.”
“What is it like?” she asked.
He began to walk so that she almost missed his answer. “An amputation,” he whispered.”

“I love you," he finally whispered. She leaned forward and touched his face. "I know. And I love you, too.”

“Have you killed anyone?” she asked quickly.
“What? Did you miss what I said, about turning murder into
an art form?”
“But you haven’t actually killed anyone yet, have you? I read
your file.”
He glowered. “Technically, yeah, all right, maybe I haven’t”

“My daughter was asked by a little old lady in a London hotel restaurant what her daddy did. She answered, “He’s a pirate” - I was very proud of that answer.”

“What I like in a good author is not what he says, but what he whispers.”

“Oh, Lord!" This must be what it's like to make love in Hell," he whispered. "With a burning she-devil.”

“Wait!" he yelled.
I didn't turn around, I walked faster. Then I heard him slam his fist on the hood of his car. I almost stopped.
Maybe I would have if he'd followed me. But he didn't. He got in his car and he left, just like he said he would.”

“'Twas the fifteenth anniversary of her twenty-second year,
So he smiled at her as sweetly as a hog
And asked what present she would like. And jestingly she said:
"Your green tie for my little yellow dog."”

“I’m not strong enough for this,” he whispered in her ear—like he didn’t want anyone to hear that coming out of his mouth. Ever. Running her hands up his powerful back, she held him just as hard. “But I am.”

““I’ll tell you,” she said softly. “But you won’t like it.”
He looked away from her. “I asked for the truth. Whether I like it or not, I have to know.””