Kim Harrison Quotations

People ask me what I do in my spare time, and I look at them blankly, truly believing that I don't even have spare time, and if I did, I'd probably use it for something mundane, like chipping away at the mound of laundry rising to dangerous proportions in the back room.

Teens like a lot of the same things adults do: smart people doing amazing things against awful odds.

Don't fall into the trap of having to have everything perfect to write or wait until the mood strikes you. If you want it as a job, treat it like a job, and just as you don't go to work only when you feel like it, you have to condition yourself to sit and write even when the ideas don't flow.

Music moves society more than most people realize. In my opinion, it's a soft manipulator of influence and change.

'Dandelion Wine' became one of the few books that I returned to time and again, and while not anywhere near the story crafter as Mr. Bradbury, I hope I managed to absorb by osmosis some of his techniques.

I never considered I might make a career out of writing as I was going to school, so when I did turn my attentions that way, I was very ill prepared, having only what I read as a guide, and no formal training whatsoever. I credit that very ignorance with a great deal of my success.

Dead Witch Walking is basically a modern-day witch living in Cincinnati.

I grew up reading SF in the '70s and '80s, and I like fast, thought-provoking plots that take you places in fully realized worlds.

I was very introverted. You know, I had my close group of friends, but I really didn't care what the cool kids were doing.

I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.

I love the power of the musician who composes and performs. I envy their ability to put a nugget of truth in three minutes of sweat and emotional outpouring, colored entirely from their thoughts.

I've found that when I'm having trouble solidifying a character or a scene, that music will often free my subconscious just that last little bit to allow me to move forward, and often it's in a direction that I didn't expect, but is 100 percent true to the character.

If I give a book as a gift, it is invariably a children's book with beautiful artwork and a simple text. I adore the feel of them, the care taken in the artwork, and the high visual stimulation that sets off the simple but often powerful message the text conveys.

My editor picked out the name she wanted. I was either going to be Kim Harrison or Lisa Harrison, because she wanted me shelved right next to Hamilton.

There is black. There is white. Gray is a cowardly excuse to mix our wants with our needs.

I grew up reading SF in the 70s and 80s, and I like fast, thought-provoking plots that take you places in fully realized worlds.

I didn't have a good reason to say no. He was 13 years old, and he was trying to do something so noble.

We supposedly lost it last year by one or two bands. I knew if we worked hard this year we'd have a chance.

It is like sending out the quarter back from the Super Bowl to work with the high school team.

Every day, people don't realize what the war really means.

These students have sacrificed so much to be in the jazz program. They have sacrificed time, lessons and finances. Now they are getting a chance to go to the Super Bowl of high school jazz competitions.

The first time I though it was once in a lifetime. You're a winner just being invited.

It's going to be very, very tough, but I'm looking forward to it at the same time,because he was very proud of what he was doing, and we, of course, were very proud of him.

And then there are the rare ones who know love, who understand it. Who freely give of themselves, demanding only a return of that love,that trust.

I told you, computers are like women. If you shout at them or ask them to do too many things at once, they shut down and you won't even get a sniff" pg. 4

Sure, he had a wife and fifty-four kids, but he looked like a college freshman. A yummy college freshman majoring in Oh-my-god-I-gotta-get-me-some-of-that.

I was cold, hungry, and in a hole in the ground. But at least I had my elven porn, damnit!

Maybe he thinks he can rescue me? No one is that stupid.

Endings are not always bad. Most times they're just beginnings in disguise.

There were no more choices, no more options, no more clever ways out of a tough situation. And the rush, I realized in a brutal wash of despair, is a false god I’ve chased my entire life. One that cost me everything in the blind search for sensation. My entire existence amounted to nothing.

I sighed. I hated the maze of bureaucracy with a passion, but I've found the best way to deal with it is to smile and act stupid. That way, no one gets confused.

Growing up is hard, love. Otherwise everyone would do it.

...treat people with understanding when you can, and fake it when you can't until you do understand.

Hey, ah, does anyone want a cookie or something? Oh yeah. A cookie. That would make everything better. Dunked in a shot of tequila , maybe? Or better yet, just the bottle? Yeah, that ought to do it.

Al was cruel, vindictive, angry, elegant, powerful. He gave me strength, he gave me wisdom, not only about magic, but about myself. He was a lot like Trent, only harsher around the edges.

I have to save the world tomorrow, and I don't even know what I'm going to wear yet.--Rachel Morgan

With a gentle pressure, our lips met. His hands slipped more firmly about me, and I held myself back, not afraid, but wanting to feel everything slowly as I leaned in, tasting the wine on him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing into mine, breathing in our scents that were mingling and changing with the warmth. My hands rose to find his hair, and I relaxed into him as the silky strands brushed through my fingers. I wanted more, and I leaned into him as our lips moved against each other.

If it was up to me, I’d choose the hard path with the easy ending, not the easy path with the hard end.

The demon had trouble remembering what she was doing, but she was powerful, sort of the crazy Wendy of the lost lord-of-the-flies boys.

Five trolls in a dra-a-a-a-ag,' the four-inch man sang from my shoulder. 'Four purple condoms, three French ticklers, two horny vamps and a succubus in the snow.

Al was standing a bare three feet away, his mood almost jovial as he took the paper and it vanished in a wash of black sparkles. “Thank you, Rachel,” he said, carefully reaching for my hand as Trent stiffened. “Welcome back, my itchy witch.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt some sort of dominance foreplay?

Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve—” “You don’t even wear your heart in your chest,

Keep your vampire mitts off me. I'm not your friggin' blood toy.

that was humanity's problem right there. they are brain damaged from the early sun

What are you?" I rasped. It smiled. "Whatever scares you.

That's why I want you there, he said. You're unpredictable, and that can be the difference between success and failure. Most people make decisions in anger, fear, love, or obligation. You make decisions to irritate people.

But the same things that had once attracted menow left me with a mild sense of unease. Ivy would say I was getting smarter, but I just felt…empty.

Somehow I found him. Somehow I found Al's sarcastic thoughts, bitter and old. Tired, angry, bored. Alone.

Rachel, we've been over this. This is what I do," he said, crumbs of whiten cheese falling from the knife. "Find a way for your lofty, unrealistic ideals to deal with it.

Jenks, you can fly me up the rest of the way to Trent, and then pow! I give Trent his statue." "Pow, you'll be naked!" Jenks exclaimed. (Rachel and Jenks)

Rache,” he said, trying to get into my line of sight. “What more do you need? God to send a telegram?" (Jenks)

She just threatened to throw the next man who shoots at you out the window. Megan is awake. She offered to help. God, Trent, what is it with you and women?

Who’s going to keep them from wiping us out species by species? Not me. We aren’t prepared for a new demographic of magic-using humans who are sadistic, power hungry, don’t like Inderlanders, and see genocide as an acceptable form of communication.

All I'd have to do then was roll with the consequences of inviting dewinged, fanged fairies into Trent's backyard. God, they were savage looking. Served him right.

Rachel, you take her,” my mother said, clearly uncomfortable. “She might like you.” “No. Mom, no!” I protested, but it was my mother we were talking about, and it was either take the baby or have her hit the floor.

Relief spilled into me. He wanted to live. He just didn't know how.

People die, Rachel," Ceri said, her cheeks flushing. "Not if I can help it," I snapped. "And not of a broken heart. If you could, I'd be dead already.

Jenks kept me alive for two years through two death threats, a crazy banshee, and at least two serial killers. Its about time I return the favor! And if I can't, then I can sit by his bed and hold his hand as he dies, 'cause I've had plenty of practice doing that, too!

No," she said firmly. "I want you to stay when I go. Break tradition again, my love, and burn me alone in the home we built. I don't want you with me. You aren't done. You see too far ahead. You need to make the world in your thoughts a real one that our children can fly in." - Matalina to Jenks

Actually, I am kind of busy right now,” I drawled as I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes. “You have to make melanin while the sun shines.

He didn't want Lucy to grow up feeling alone, surrounded by everything and having nothing.

Rachel knew what she was doing. And when she didn't, she could improvise on the fly, coming up with options that left a lot of collateral damage but usually only hurt herself, not the people around her. It was one of the things he would never admit that he admired about her.

A devious spark lit through Al, making me smile. One way. It costs too much, he said. “There’s no inflation in the ever-after, Al.” Call it a recession then. One way.

Her tiny hand gripped mine with a surprising warmth, and in a shocking wash of emotion, I felt everything I knew shift. The scent of cinnamon and baby powder hit me, and as my eyes widened, my heart melted, making room for her.

I have a name,” I grumped, my stomach pinching me harder. “Yes, but it has no pizzazz. Ra-a-a-a-chel. Rach-e-e-e-eel,” he said, trying it out in different ways. “No one will tremble in terror at that. Oh my God!” he said in a high falsetto. “It’s Rachel! Run! Hide!

No exclusive,” I said aloud, watching Al for his opinion and seeing him shake his head and hold his hands out in a “bigger” gesture. He didn’t even know how large the offer was, and he thought I could get one bigger.

A demon was asking me what I wanted. My eyes flicked to Al, and he shrugged. “What do you want?” he said softly.

Two thousand miles, Rachel,” he said tightly, and I guessed that no, it didn’t violate the rules of whatever he was doing out here, because he sure wasn’t out here keeping the coven from attacking me. “I have eaten nothing but slop for two days and used facilities I wouldn’t let my dogs urinate in. And what about that couple in the RV outside Texas? I’ll never get that memory out of my head.” - Trent to Rachel

This is about Ku’Sox, isn’t it,” I said, more of a statement than a question. He made a sighing groan, and I knew it was. “Then you’ve met,” he said, his thoughts clearly on the day-walking demon. “Funny, you don’t look dead.” His hand touched my chin, shifting it so he could see where I’d been pixed, the blisters itchy and red. “I’m surprised you survived the little designer dump. I nearly didn’t.

You tried to slide his original curse back onto him?” Al said in wonder. “At the restaurant? And I stopped you? Sweet mother pus bucket!” he exclaimed, and I swear, dust sifted from the ceiling. “Rachel, we have to work on this communication thing.

Ku’Sox was indeed a demon. In. The. Sun. I needed answers, but I wanted them from Al, not…Cute Socks here.

And if he is lying and he double-crosses you, I’ll kill him for you.” From anyone else, it would have been an idle threat, and I smiled, feeling loved. (Ivy and Rachel)

They tried to kill me,” he said, his brow furrowed as he glared at them. “You saw them!” “Yeah?” I spouted off. “They weren’t very good at it!” (Trent and Rachel)

I’m not going anywhere with you, you little shoemaker,” I said (Rachel to Trent)

I pushed him away, catching Lee's awe that I was not only standing with a demon outside a circle, but that Al was treating me like an equal. Or maybe a favorite pet, I amended as Al caught me when I started to tilt.

Shot me twice. I want my name, or I'm going to start charging you a fee every time I field something for you. And it's going to be expensive. I'm Park Place. Bud-dy." His red, goat-slitted eyes squinted at me from over his smoked glasses. "You're more like Oriental Avenue right now, dove. What are you on?

Rachel, my itchy witch," Al said as he tugged the lace at his cuffs. "We've talked about this. You simply must stop collecting nasty little men. How many do you really need, love?

Jenks laughed, taking to the air and saying, “Give it up, FIB man. It’ll take more than you to get her out. Remember what Ivy and I did to your finest last spring? Add Rachel to that, and you can say your prayers.” From behind me came Edden’s dry “You think Ivy wants another stint as a candy striper?

Edden called the church first,” she said by way of greeting, her thin eyebrows high as she spotted Ford’s arm linked in mine. “Hi, Ford.” The man reddened at the lilt she’d put in her last words, but I wouldn’t let him take his arm back. I liked being needed. “He’s having trouble with the background emotion,” I said. “And he’d rather be abused by yours?” Nice. (Ivy, Rachel and Ford)

Trent, do you have any weapons? Like a gun?” He looked at me in disgust. “You’re here to protect me,” he said as he closed the distance between us and stood beside me. “You didn’t bring a weapon?” “Yeah, I brought a weapon,” I snapped as I brought my splat gun out and aimed it at the ceiling where the sounds were coming from. “I just thought that since you’re a freaking murderer you might have a gun, too (...)

she thought I could find a way to save her soul when she died and became an undead. Right now, I was just looking to find the rent money. I’d get to my roommate’s soul later.

Rachel, you summon demons. You’re good at it. Get over it, then find a way to make it work for you. It’s not going to go away.

Newt spun, making her robe unfurl. “He’s my familiar, bought and paid for. I can claim anything of his. Even his life.” Al cleared his throat nervously. “That’s good to know,” he said lightly. “Important safety tip. Rachel, write that down somewhere as lesson number one.

You!” she said, stepping forward with a vehement expression and her finger pointed. Heart pounding, I pressed into Al. Funny how he seemed so much safer now. (Newt, Rachel and Al)

Hey,” the other said, coming to life. “You’re supposed to be in jail.” Al grinned at him, his white-gloved grip tightening on the wooden handle, which was intricately carved in the shape of a naked, writhing woman. Nice. “And your momma wanted you to have a brain,” he said, yanking the door open and slamming it into the guy’s face.

God, it stinks,” I said, hand over my nose as he pulled me into a long step. Al strode forward, head high. “It’s the stench of bureaucracy, my itchy-witch, and why I chose to go into human resources when but a wee lad.

Be reasonable. I know you can be. If you try very, very hard.” - Al to Rachel

In a few hours, I’m going to be banished to the surface, my belongings raffled off as novelty items and my living space given to someone else—my reputation destroyed. I’d rather have your head than your soul at this point in my illustrious career.” - Al

Trent looked me up and down. “Is that all you’re going to do?” My pulse quickened, and I gazed at the front of the basilica where the scratching was coming from. “I might have a snack later if nothing comes through those doors.

Rachel,” came a raspy voice from the upper level, and both Trent and I turned. It was Quen, wrapped in a blanket as if it was a death shroud, the black-haired intern at his side, supporting him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and I could see him wavering as he stood there. “Don’t touch Trenton,” he said, his gravelly voice clear in the hush, “or I’m going to have to come down there…and smack you around.

I thought Trent should get over his pixy paranoia and admit he had an eerie attraction to them, like every other pure-blood elf I’d met. So he liked pixies. I liked double-crunch ice cream, but you didn’t see me avoiding it in the grocery store.

She smiled with the warmth of a penguin.

Behind the fury, he was tired. He was tired of being hauled around and shoved into a little room. He was tired of trying for me and failing. And to have Minias know it, to be carted off under his leash…It was almost insulting. Maybe, if I gave Al a night of peace to lick his wounds and his pride, he would grant that same courtesy to me?

And while seeing Trent in his tighty-whities would make my decade, I’d found out long ago that I couldn’t stay mad at a man wearing nothing but underwear. They looked so charmingly vulnerable.

Looking at everything, I started to feel nauseous, as if the seventies had taken refuge here against extinction and were preparing to take over the world.

The small gargoyle had gone entirely white to match the ceiling, and only the rims of his ears, his long clawlike nails, and a thick stripe down his whip-like tail were still gray. He was crawling along the ceiling like a bat, wings held to make sharp angles and claws extended. It just about broke my creepy meter.

I turned back to the mirror, seeing that there were no lines on it. It was empty. "What happened to my mirror?" I said, bewildered. Then realizing that I was looking at the back of the dumb thing, I swore and turned it over.

I sat for a moment, figuring things out, then decided to stay there. If I was on the floor, I couldn't fall down.

I just want my name back so my life can go back to chaotic and weird instead of chaotic and desperate.