Alicia

“was a fundamental principle of the Gradgrind philosophy that everything was to be paid for. Nobody was ever on any account to give anybody anything, or render anybody help without purchase. Gratitude was to be abolished, and the virtues springing from it were not to be. Every inch of the existence of mankind, from birth to death, was to be a bargain across a counter. And if we didn’t get to Heaven that way, it was not a politico-economical place, and we had no business there.”
― Charles Dickens, Hard Times

“Make the betht of uth; not the wurtht!”
― Charles Dickens, Hard Times

“Now he felt temper snapping at the nerves. “If you can’t be comfortable in the house while I’m not here, you can barricade yourself in this apartment. You can damn well barricade yourself in it while I am here. It’s up to you.”

“Yes, it is.” She took a deep breath and turned to him. “You did this for me.”

Annoyed, he inclined his head. “There doesn’t seem to be much I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I think that’s starting to sink in.” No one had ever given her anything quite so perfect. No one, she realized, understood her quite so well. “That makes me a lucky woman, doesn’t it?”


He opened his mouth, bit back something particularly nasty. “The hell with it,” he decided. “I have to go.”

“Roarke, one thing.” She walked to him, well aware he was all but snarling with temper. “I haven’t kissed you good-bye,” she murmured and did so with a thoroughness that rocked him back on his heels. “Thank you.” Before he could speak, she kissed him again. “For always knowing what matters to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Possessively, he ran a hand over her tousled hair.

“Miss me.”

“I already am.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary chances.” His hands gripped in her hair hard, briefly. “There’s no use asking you not to take the necessary ones.”

“Then don’t.” Her heart stuttered when he kissed her hand. “Safe trip,” she told him when he stepped into the elevator. She was new at it, so waited until the doors were almost shut. “I love you.” The last thing she saw was the flash of his grin.”
― J.D. Robb, Glory in Death

“You go in, I go in."
"Listen---"
He took her face in his hands.
"You go, I go. That's non-negotiable. If we're to get blasted to hell or poisoned into lunatics, we do it together."
"Crap, Crap. You have to look less rich and gorgeous."
God help him, she made him grin. "I'll do what I can.”
― J.D. Robb, Delusion in Death