I want us to be... what is your word? Friends."
"Psychotic rapists don't have friends."
"I was unaware you were a psychotic rapists or I would not have offered."
(Mac & V'lane)

Was he a good kisser, Ms. Lane?” Barrons asked, watching me carefully.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand at the memory. “It was like being owned.”
Some women like that.”
Not me.”
Perhaps it depends on the man doing the owning.”
I doubt it. I couldn’t breathe with him kissing me.”
One day you may kiss a man you can’t breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence.”
Right, and one day my prince might come.”
I doubt he’ll be a prince, Ms. Lane. Men rarely are.

I love books, by the way, way more than movies. Movies tell you what to think. A good book lets you choose a few thoughts for yourself. Movies show you the pink house. A good book tells you there's a pink house and lets you paint some of the finishing touches, maybe choose the roof style,park your own car out front. My imagination has always topped anything a movie could come up with. Case in point, those darned Harry Potter movies. That was so not what that part-Veela-chick, Fleur Delacour, looked like.

Driving a hot car is a lot like sex to me, or a lot like I keep thinking sex should be: A total body experience, overwhelming, to all the senses, taking you places you've never been, packing a punch that leaves you breathless and touches your soul. The Viper was way more satisfying then my last boyfriend.

Gwen Cassidy needed a man.
Desperately.
Failing that, she'd settle for a cigarette.

It's just another of Robin's sayings. Like, 'Holy strawberries, Batman, we're in a jam! Or, Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it!