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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 8cafee2 | Relegating grizzlies to Alaska is about like relegating happiness heaven; one may never get there. | Aldo Leopold | ||
| 4f45bb7 | The dog proved to be as dumb and stubborn as a mud fence, so Stranahan had named him Strom. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 724bc4f | Conservation is a state of harmony between men and land. | Aldo Leopold | ||
| e5305cd | What you're holding in your hands is a BookShots Flames story. It's part of a revolution in reading. Hand-picked by James Patterson, BookShots Flames are a whole new kind of book-- 100 percent story-driven, no fluff, always under $5. At 150 pages or fewer, all of our BookShots can be read in a night, on a commute, even on your cell phone during breaks at | Beth Ciotta | ||
| c725ec6 | Mr. B. D. Harper's death was a milestone. It may have seemed an atrocity to you; to us, it was poetry. Contrary to what you'd like to believe, this was not the act of a sick person, but the raging of a powerful new underclass. Mr. Harper's death was not a painful one, but it was unusual, and we trust that it got your attention. Soon we start playing for keeps. Wait for number three! El Fuego, Comandante, Las Noches de Diciembre | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 0ded431 | Cab Mulcahy poured the coffee. Skip Wiley drank. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| ad1b44d | Skip, that's one of about forty things on my list. It isn't funny anymore. You're fucking up on a regular basis. You miss deadlines, you libel people, you invent ludicrous facts and put them in the paper. I've got a lawyer downstairs who does nothing but fight off litigation against your column. We've had to print seven retractions in the last four months--that's a new record, by the way. No other managing editor in the history of this news.. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 88dda0e | Sit down, Skip. I'm not finished." Mulcahy stood up, brandishing the stack of columns. "You know what makes me sad? You're such a damn good writer, too good to be turning out shit like this. Something's happened the last few months. You've been slipping away. I think you're sick." Wiley winced. "Sick?" | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 83d11da | I took all your columns from the last four months," Mulcahy said, "and I gave them to Dr. Courtney, the psychiatrist. " "Jesus! He's a wacko, Cab. The guy has a thing for animals. I've heard this from seven or eight sources. Ducks and geese, stuff like that." | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 8fa3b75 | also want you to go to an internist. Courtney says the mental degeneration has occurred so rapidly that it could be pathological. A tumor or something. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 49bae07 | dug in, but he seemed to be feeling no | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| ab6a1e8 | Wiley wrote a daily column for the Sun and probably was the best-known journalist in Miami. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 8b3f380 | Skip Wiley was thirty-seven years old but he had the eyes of an old Gypsy. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 60e324f | want Mrs. Starch to come back! | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| a234ae0 | Brian Keyes slouched on a worn bench in the lobby of the Dade County jail, waiting to see the creep the cops just caught. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 9192ae0 | private investigator. Which he actually was. So the turtle-eyed sergeant ignored him. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 504a264 | Ernesto Cabal, alias Little Ernie, alias No-Way Jose, was sitting disconsolately on the crapper when the trusty opened the cell for Brian Keyes. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 86d98e8 | Keyes opened his briefcase. "You a lawyer, Mr. Keyes?" "Nope. I'm an investigator. I was hired by your lawyers to help you." | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| e198a9c | But I got some great buy on this Oldsmobile. You can't believe it." "Probably not." "I got it from a black guy." "For?" "Two hundred bucks." | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 48e753b | No fooling, Keyes thought. He had arrived in Miami in 1979 from a small newspaper in suburban Baltimore. There was nothing original about why he'd left for Florida--a better job, no snow, plenty of sunshine. On his first day at the Miami Sun, Keyes had been assigned the desk next to Skip Wiley--the newsroom equivalent of Parris Island. Keyes covered cops for a while, then courts, then local politics. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| a7dae99 | Still doing divorces?" Al Garcia asked. "Here and there." Keyes hated to admit it, but that's what covered the rent: he'd gotten damn good at staking out nooner motels with his three-hundred-millimeter Nikon. That was another reason for Al Garcia's affability. Last year he had hired Brian Keyes to get the goods on his new son-in-law. Garcia despised the kid, and was on the verge of outright murdering him when he called Keyes for help. Keyes.. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 36a13af | I mean, you've got thirty detectives working on this murder, right? You must have had a list of suspects." "Not on this one." "So what we're talking about is blind luck. Some Beach cop nails the guy for running a traffic light and, bingo, there's Mr. Sparky Harper's missing automobile." "Luck was only part of it," Garcia said sourly. Keyes said, "You caught Cabal in the victim's car, but what else?" | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| fde009d | he was bitten in the groin by a Belgian shepherd trainee named Kong, and he required three operations, culminating in a scrotal graft from a Brahma steer. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| c575759 | horse's ass, | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 3da89dd | It occurred to Yancy that, in the time they'd known each other, he hadn't once seen her look at her cell phone. She never texted, tweeted, Facebooked, Instagrammed, or posted a single picture when they were together. He found this behavior alluring. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| b14dec1 | I believe it's never too late to change. I'm eighty-one years old, but I still think I can be a better person tomorrow than I am today. And that's what I'll believe until I run out of tomorrows. | life | Carl Hiaasen | |
| ace1ebc | Each week the writers strived to portray the brothers on a social bandwidth halfway between harmless rednecks and odious white trash. It was a precarious tightwire. From | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 038f8fe | the match. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 99d01f5 | One day he came home to find her burning his collection of heavy-metal CDs, which she had taken to calling "devil wafers." She" | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| c65bfee | The vandals didn't stand a chance against five hundred-odd pounds of badass dog flesh. They | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 224ee67 | sucking on a football. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 419dbc9 | Don't order the fish," Yancy advised Merry when they sat down. "But it's a seafood joint." "More like a petri dish with menus. When they say 'catch of the day,' they mean infection." Brennan" | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| bccc266 | It occurred to Yancy that, in the time they'd known each other, he hadn't once seen her look at her cell phone. She never texted, tweeted, Facebooked, Instagrammed, or posted a single picture when they were together. He found this behavior alluring. The | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 031b765 | Bode Gazzer was five feet six and had never forgiven his parents for it. He wore three-inch snakeskin shitkickers and walked with a swagger that suggested not brawn so much as hemorrhoidal tribulation. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 672d68a | Despite the meatiness of his fingers, Dominick showed himself to be a nimble texter. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 2a634a2 | Martin Trebeaux had purchased a fleet of marine barges using the proceeds from a poshly falsified BP oil-spill claim. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 06213b8 | Buck's girlfriend went by the porny name of Miracle though she had a master's in computer science from Florida State. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 61a06d6 | his mother wanted him closer to home. The funeral had been | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 3f2aa41 | dude ranch, | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| f7af4b0 | Malley told the shrink that she'd run away because Justin | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 62a141e | Cuban cigars, | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| 70e2f28 | Morphy, | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| a395865 | It was inevitable that the poacher and the counterfeiter would bond, sharing as they did a blanket contempt for government, taxes, homosexuals, immigrants, minorities, gun laws, assertive women and honest work. | Carl Hiaasen | ||
| a21a919 | Only because you're injured," she said, and kissed him again. He pulled her close. "How's this going to work with all these stitches? Do I have to keep standing?" "Well," whispered Rosa, "I suppose you could kneel." Yancy lifted her sundress. "You're the doctor." | Carl Hiaasen |