mystery

Blessed are those who encounter a mystery in their lives because they obtain a big opportunity to live the great joy of solving puzzles!

She took the bottom of her shirt and wiped the handles of the blades. He made a face.__hat was that for?___ingerprints. I__ not wastin_ time explainin_ to cops why six inches of steel went into a dumbass.

Is there wisdom in innocence? I think there is, but there is a cult now of drab men and women, for whom the world, and even life itself, is a kind of commodity. These critics, having eaten, now study their excrement to see what they consumed. On this they base certain conclusions. Their ignorance is uncompromising. Let us rather stand before the unknown, in very humble, quiet observance and wait while it reveals itself.

That night, Jas wore the only dress she owned.It was made of soft,clingy fabric.The skirt was short, showing off her now tan and muscular legs.When she came down the steps barefoot,Chase's eyes widened in surprise. "Um...what happened to your jeans?" he asked. "Never mind." Linking her arm with his,she steered him away from the kitchen door."Is Danvers here?" "In the kitchen standing very close to Miss Hahn,tasting spaghetti sauce." "Okay.Here's the plan." she lowered her voice."Call him into the living room for something. I'll run up and get the album." Chase nodded his head with utmost seriousness"And I'll drop the salad." "Right." He was bent slightly to hear her and without warning, he suddenly angled his head and kissed her. When he pulled back, he was grinning like a little kid."Sorry.I couldn't help myself. It's all this intrigue." "Right it's the intrigue," Jas repeated, too surprised to say anything else. Her heart was beating like a drum, and when he went into the kitchen, she thumped up the steps, touching her lips. Thinking to herself "Did he really just kiss me?"...........

We look wishfully to emergencies, to eventful, revolutionary times...and think how easy to have taken our part when the drum was rolling and the house was burning over our heads. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Excerpt from page 3 of "Wicked Washington"Shelly Williams, the main character, speaking about her life:And close and dangerous calls were almost my last name. Yet I felt as comfortable among the street hustlers, junkies, thieves, and criminals of D.C. as I did dining with mywhite-collar, college-pedigreed friends over filet mignon, Maine lobster, and strawberry cheesecake at LaMermaidSeafood Restaurant.

Shut up!" Finn turned, furious. "Look at you both! The only friends I have in this hell and all you can do is fight over me. Do either of you care about me? Not the seer, the fighter, the fool who takes all the risks, but me, Finn?

Trust no one. You may be working with the last honest cop in Mexicali, but why bet your life on it?

If I__ going down, I__ going down with lipstick on.

The past is always with us. It echoes through every living moment, giving it depth and meaning beyond itself. Sometimes the past is so powerful, those echoes threaten to overwhelm the present.

Writing the middle of a novel is a lot like driving through Texas. You think it's never going to end, and the scenery looks the same.

So many doors around here, I'm surprised your name isn't Monty Hall.

Three guys and a girl were leaning against a black raised pickup ... I had to do a double take as this group was nothing like I had ever seen before.

She had been lying there, facedown in the water long before the tide had turned at 3.04 that morning. Her eyes were staring into the river, her blonde hair first fanning out, then drawing back under her head with the wash of the water, like a pulsating jellyfish. The belt of her raincoat was caught on the branches of an overhanging tree and she__ been hooked, destined to forever flap against the corner of the broken pier with outstretched arms. She wasn__ going anywhere now; she was simply bobbing up and down with the rhythm of the water - and she hadn__ blinked in a long while.

Your novels show only the tiniest fraction of detective work, the brilliant crime, the tantalizing clues, the dramatic chase, the final battle atop a lofty peak with ocean waves crashing down below, and then_ justice served! If they wrote about the real world, four-fifths of the story would consist of the hero sitting in a library for months and following false leads.

On the other side of that big-ass mirror, a video camera was watching us. In about ten seconds, it was going to start spitting static at itself, and everything it saw was going to break up into a fuzzy, gray-white wash, rolling up and down, that wouldn__ be admissible as evidence on Judge Judy. Those missing frames would last a little less than a quarter of a minute, consolidate themselves backinto a semblance of reality, and then I would theoretically go walking right back out of here.Between now and that moment, there stretched an infinite ocean of potentialtime. Time enough to walk around the world. Time enough to fall in love, getmarried on a white beach under purple stars, write a book of poems abouttruest passion, have a few good and bloody screaming matches, get divorced in a court of autumn elves and gypsy moths, then set the ink-stained, tear-streaked pages of your text ablaze.

Here,there,every where

Lucille,_ Norma Jean whispered loud enough for me to hear from my foliage hideout. She leaned over her walker and adjusted her glasses. __s that Willis Harvey up front by Elsa?___ell, pinch my pooch, I believe it is,_ Lucille said. __ barely recognize him with his clothes on.