#lock

I love Sherlock Holmes. I've got all his books, leather-bound. What I thought was great about Sherlock Holmes was that not only was he a supersleuth, he was also a hard worker. Not only did he go out and solve the crimes, he came home and wrote it all down. Fantastic. That's why I admire him. ↗

— Steve Coogan

#sherlock-holmes #writing #love

I never told my love vocally still. ↗

— Emily Brontë

#love #love

Love is the cage and the cage is closed and the door is locked and nobody’s home. ↗

— Ashraf Siddiqui

#closed #door #locked-home #love #nobody

Click. The door swung open. "Three," James said with a slightly self-satisfied smile. "Well done," Caroline said. He smiled back at her. "I've never met a woman or a lock that didn't love me. ↗

— Julia Quinn

#love

But unfriendly is usually one of those things you pick up on right away. You know, like B.O. There's no hiding it if it's there. ↗

— Sarah Dessen

#lock-and-key #nate-cross #sarah-dessen #humor

There was something in his gaze that told her he liked how she looked in his clothes. It had to be a bloke thing, because she certainly wouldn't want to see him wearing hers. ↗

— Kady Cross

#kady-cross #the-girl-in-the-clockwork-collar #humor

Just roll me in fairy dust and call me a unicorn. ↗

— Lita Burke

#fairy #humor #steampunk #unicorn #wizard

When she got back from taking Cassie to school Fancy knew that she ought to be working on her wilderness romance. She had promised thirty thousand words to her editor by tomorrow, and she had only written eleven. Specifically: His rhinoceros smelled like a poppadom: sweaty, salty, strange and strong. Her editor would cut that line. ↗

— Jaclyn Moriarty

#humor #romance-novel #writers #writers-block #humor

You’re like seven feet tall, aren’t you?” “I am not seven feet tall,” he snapped at her as if she’d really insulted him. “I’m six-eleven.” When she smirked in disbelief, he added, “And three-quarters. ↗

— Shelly Laurenston

#humor #lock #humor

Want to play hangman? asks Theophile, and I ache to tell him that I have enough on my plate playing quadriplegic. But my communication system disqualifies repartee: the keenest rapier grows dull and falls flat when it takes several minutes to thrust it home. By the time you strike, even you no longer understand what had seemed so witty before you started to dictate it, letter by letter. So the rule is to avoid impulsive sallies. It deprives conversation of its sparkle, all those gems you bat back and forth like a ball-and I count this forced lack of humor one of the great drawbacks of my condition. ↗

— Jean-Dominique Bauby

#conversation #locked-in-syndrome #repartee #communication