Explore Quotes by Darynda Jones

Try writing an entire story with only a thousand words at your disposal. It’s a terrific lesson in economy and precession.

Writing is transcendental. It is a form of expression, a form of art that you can take anywhere. That you can do anywhere. It poses the deepest questions in the universe. It generates emotion. It elicits empathy, promotes learning, creates an intellect you simply cannot get from any other medium. For me, it is air.

The point is, stories can be all lengths. Never underestimate the power of “less is more.

I often question my sanity. Occasionally, it replies.

The dead guy looked at me with wide eyes. “I can’t move my legs.” I snorted. “You can’t move your arms either, or your feet or your freaking eyelids. You’re dead.

You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.

I climbed into Misery and called Uncle Bob. “We hooking up?” “Why does everything out of your mouth make me sound incestuous?” “Um, I wasn’t aware that it did. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.” “Charley.” “Is there something you need to get off your chest? Besides that skank I saw you with the other day?

I should’ve known the day was going to turn out bad when it started with my father trying to kill me

I knew dating the son of Satan would turn out badly

Does Uncle Bob have anything?" "I heard he has an STD." "I mean on the women." "Oh, I have no idea if they have any STDs.

Okay, I'll strip. I'll tap dance. I'll sing 'La Cucaracha' in C minor.

I know how you feel. I’ve been analyzed to death as well. Not, like, professionally, though I did date a psych major who said I had attention issues. Or at least that’s what I think he said. I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, where was I?

She blinked at me, then realized I was panicking. Honestly, it was like admitting to murder before being interrogated. “Ms. Davidson,” she began, but I decided to trip her up, to throw her off the trail of blood I’d left like an injured animal. “I don’t speak English.

That's my entire weekend. I had plans" "A Vampire Dairies marathon is not plans." She looked at me like I lost my mind. "Have you even seen the Salvatore brothers? Holy mother of gingersnaps.

Oh, my god!” I said to Reyes, my eyes radiating accusations at him. “She took your picture? Just what kind of game are you playing? You’re under arrest, mister.” His mouth tilted and a dimple emerged on one cheek as I took his wrist and threw him against a wall. Or, well, urged him toward it. I held him against the cool wood with one hand and frisked him with the other.

It’s all fun and games until someone loses a testicle. —T-SHIRT

Who is Dr. A. von Holstein? And is he related, by chance, to a race of cows?

Okay, I’ll put someone on it. But you know, the Albuquerque Police Department wasn’t really created to find things out for you.” “Really? That’s weird.

If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.

I had a horrible feeling my leg was broken. If it wasn’t, it had a lot of explaining to do.

My goal in life is to have a psychiatric disorder named after me.