159 Quotes by Josh Lanyon

I do not want this cat. No, Nat. Not in a hat. Not in my flat. Not in the store, not anymore, just out the door. --if you please.

'Darling, you have to come home,' she started in as soon as I answered. 'You cannot possibly want to stay in that... that tomb with bodies falling out of the wall!' 'I don't know why not,' I replied. 'It's everything a ghoul could ask for.'

'You remember asking me if I'd ever begged?' I wiped the corner of my eyes, sniffed. 'Is this about to get kinky?'

See! He likes you,” Natalie said triumphantly.I stared down at the scrawny scrap of fur cautiously sniffing my hand.“He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m going to feed him.”“Now who’s being a cynic? Anyway, every bookstore should have a cat.”The cat -- assuming it was a cat and not some beige bug-eyed refugee from outer space -- slunk uneasily down the counter, and flinched at the flutter of Mystery Scene pages as a gust of warm air blew in from the street.

So you're like a ... an amateur sleuth?""God no. I'm more like the hapless guys in those film-noir flicks we used to watch. I keep getting tangled up in bizarro events.""Oh yes?” His eyes lit with enthusiasm. I was speaking his language now. “Guy Pearce in L.A. Confidential or William Hurt in Body Heat?""I was thinking more like Woody Allen in Play It Again, Sam.

He won't feel a fraction of what I do for you. You won't change his life. And you will always wonder about what could have been, always feel that funny little ache right here." He puts his hand over your heart.

Just shut up and listen.”“Well since you ask so nicely….”There was silence. I listened. He didn’t say anything.“Are we communicating through the Psychic Hotline or what?

Why can't you say it?" I hardened my voice. "Because I'm telling you, you never have. I'd have remembered."He stared at me with disbelief. Then he lunged forward, pushing me flat in the pillows once more. He leaned over me, his mouth a brush of lips away from my own, his breath warm on my face."Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.

He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like... the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.