Love My Pillow Quotes & Sayings

When it was done and I went to sleep, I lay awake and listened to the clock on your nightstand and the wind outside and understood that I was really home, that in bed with you was home, and something that had been getting close in the dark was suddenly gone. It could not stay. It had been banished. It knew how to come back, I was sure of that, but it could not stay and I could really go to sleep. My heart cracked with gratitude. I think it was the first gratitude I've ever really known. I lay there beside you and the tears rolled down the sides of my face and onto the pillow. I loved you then and I love you now and I have loved you every second in between. I don't care if you understand me. Understanding is vastly overrated, but nobody ever gets enough safety. I've never forgotten how safe I felt with that thing gone out of the darkness. — Stephen King

14. Indifference
I SAID, - for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,
"I'll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed;
But I'll never leave my pillow, though there be some
As would let him in - and take him in with tears!" I said.
I lay, - for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn, - 5
I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep;
And he found me at my window with my big cloak on,
All sorry with the tears some folks might weep! — Edna St. Vincent Millay

An hour would be enough. An hour with my head on the pillow beside yours, foreheads touching, eyes locked with eyes (just the two of us, mind you, minus that sodding cat); an hour to smell the smell of you - garlic and all, I wouldn't mind, no, I wouldn't mind. An hour to press you close the whole length of our bodies and feel the shudder of your laugh. An hour to tell you I'm so glad I knew you. An hour, just an hour. I have time now like hedgehogs have fleas: I an lose it, waste it, squander it, kill it, and there will still be more to follow, but that hour I'll never have. Never. — A.P.

You love me? Like summer loves short nights. Get a checkup, then. Only cure I need is you. I'm serious about this, Chuck. Only doctor I need is Dr. Crystal Bell. Now come here . . . And then there is silence, so I put the pillow over my head because when they stop talking, I know what that means. Uggghh! — Kwame Alexander

How could I love a man as uptight as Nathan Edwards and still have a raging crush on someone as wicked as Ronnie Radke? Maybe I am an undiagnosed schizophrenic. That's what happened to Jamie Foxx's character in The Soloist. One day, he's a gifted musical student at Julliard, and the next day he's toting his cello through the streets of Los Angeles, disoriented and muttering to himself. "What are you thinking, Vivian?" I drop my hand and look at my best friend. "Nothing." "Vivian?" I grimace. "Do you think I have schizophrenia?" Fanny tosses her pillow at me. "Shut up! — Leah Marie Brown

What do you see when you look at me?"
My eyes narrowed and I pressed my lips together, weighing my thoughts. All of his bimbo admirers aside, what did I see? What did my gut tell me about this man? What did it say that allowed me to wind up here with him, under such impulsive circumstances?
"You're a sad man," I swallowed. "You're arrogant and set in your ways, but that creates a fortress for you. It's your safe haven. Behind the moat is someone who has lost something he loved, only I'm not sure what, or who. You're afraid of something and your loyalty is hidden away in a cell, wounded by betrayal." I rested my head on the pillow. "That's what I see."
"On second thought," he exhaled, letting his head drop next to mine. "You're psychic. — Rachael Wade

told you I wanted this pretty cock in my mouth. Did you think I was joking?" Green didn't wait for a response. He closed those delectable lips over his cock head and took him into his mouth, going down halfway before pressing his tongue flat against the underside of his shaft and dragging it back up slowly. Ruxs' back arched, his head pressing back into the pillow. Instinctively one of his hands weaved through Green's hair, the other ghosting over his nipple. "I fuckin' love it when you do that. It looks so pornographic. Pinch 'em harder," Green whispered. "I'll come too fast," Ruxs said back, his own voice rough from sleep. "So what? I'm gonna make you come all day. You really have no idea what you've just started." Green went back down and worked his cock like a professional. Slurping and sucking, quick then slow, then fast again. "Oh — A.E. Via

On my pillow was a note that read:
"Everyday the mood gets jealous of the sun, but once the night comes you would never know a thing. Just like the sun gives it's light to the moon, no matter what the day brings, every night you'll know I'll always love you.
Sleep Sweet.
-A"
He had my mind, my body, my heart, my soul. Like nobody else ever had. — Hope Alcocer

You should have a softer pillow than my heart. — Lord Byron

Just let me wait a little while longer,
Under your window in the quite snow.
Let me stand here and shiver, I'll be stronger
If I can see your light before I go.
All through the weeks I've tried to keep my balance.
Leaves fell, then rain, then shadows, I fell too.
Easy restraint is not among my talents,
Fall turned to Winter and I came to you.
Kissed by the snow I contemplate your face.
Oh, do not hide it in your pillow yet!
Warm rooms would never lure me from this place,
If only I could see your silhouette.
Turn on your light, my sun, my summer love.
Zero degrees down here, July above. — Polly Shulman

I've always jumped on sentiment - and here I am being more sentimental than anybody. What idiots girls are! I've always thought so. I suppose I shall sleep with his photograph under my pillow, and dream about him all night. It's dreadful to feel you've been false to your principles. — Agatha Christie

Grace: I picked up my sweater from the floor and crawled back into bed. Shoving my pillow aside, I balled up the sweater to use instead.
I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face.
It was almost like he was there. — Maggie Stiefvater

He'd given her all the love he could give tonight without taking her maidenhead, undressing her, carrying her to his bed, kissing away her tears, caressing her, bringing her to her peak with his hands again and again, until she lay, weak and utterly spent, in his arms. Then he'd held her through the watches of the night, wishing dawn would never come.
"Tha moran ghradh agam ort, dh'Amaliedh," he whispered. My love lies upon you, Amalie.
He lifted the rosary from around his neck and placed the wooden beads in her palm. Then he took the tartan sash from his French uniform and draped it across the pillow beside her, branding her with Clan MacKinnon's colors. Would she know what that meant? — Pamela Clare

I sense that the thing I am seeking is higher than love and higher than the joy of life and higher than science and glory and higher even than starts. Don't keep my wings tied in Your embrace.
You are only a shadow and only a smile in the great journey of my soul. Your eyes are the two clear springs where my thoughts came to drink and rest for a moment. And between Your breasts hides the soft pillow where I slept for a moment in order to waken again. Don't hold me bound. The enigma is not hidden in Your Lions nor in Your enormous eyes. And Your arms are small and weak and do not embrace my entire soul. There is a magnet above the stars that pulls me. And my entire body shudders, magnetized by the Great Nostalgia and the Great Longing. Someone is pulling at me from the stars. Do not hold me bound. The thing I am seeking is higher than love and higher than the joy of life. — Nikos Kazantzakis

I hate you."
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me.She really did.
"I love you," was all I could say in return.
"You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have."
"I'm trying not to be."
Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.[pp.28] — Stephen Chbosky

It is inconceivable that having carried me in His hand, as His precious jewel, He would let me now slip from between His fingers. Did He choose me before the mountains were brought forth or the channels of the ocean were formed, and will He reject me now? Impossible! I am sure He would not have loved me for so long if He had not been a faithful Lover. If He could grow weary of me, He would have been tired of me long before now. If He had not loved me with a love as deep as hell and as strong as death, He would have turned from me long ago. What joy above all joys to know that I am His everlasting and inalienable inheritance, given to Him by His Father before the earth was formed! Everlasting love shall be the pillow on which I rest my head tonight. — Anonymous

As we made love, our scars met,
grazing long enough for mine to say
"He tries to hide me,"
and for yours to reply
"I know I embarrass her."

"He never learned how to swim," whispered my scar.
"She got picked last in gym class,
then cried into her pillow," replied yours.

Just then, a huge wound opened in me.
You touched it. It closed.
I was filled, fully healed, and I knew
I would never be able not to love you. — Tom C. Hunley

Has He from everlasting been going forth to save me, and will He lose me now? What! Has He carried me in his hand, as His precious jewel, and will He now let me slip from between His fingers? Did He choose me before the mountains were brought forth, or the channels of the deep were digged, and will he reject me now? Impossible! I am sure He would not have loved me so long if He had not been a changeless Lover. If He could grow weary of me, He would have been tired of me long before now. If He had not loved me with a love as deep as hell, and as strong as death, He would have turned from me long ago. Oh, joy above all joys, to know that I am His everlasting and inalienable inheritance, given to Him by his Father or ever the earth was! Everlasting love shall be the pillow for my head this night. — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

When I wake up earlier than you and you
are turned to face me, face
on the pillow and hair spread around,
I take a chance and stare at you,
amazed in love and afraid
that you might open your eyes and have
the daylights scared out of you.
But maybe with the daylights gone
you'd see how much my chest and head
implode for you, their voices trapped
inside like unborn children fearing
they will never see the light of day.
The opening in the wall now dimly glows
its rainy blue and gray. I tie my shoes
and go downstairs to put the coffee on. — Ron Padgett

I snuggled deep into the covers,adjusted my pillow until it was just right, then lay down until my head rested on Reyes's shoulder. — Darynda Jones

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return. — Mary Jean Irion

Grace, did you just sniff my shirt?" He asked, incredulous.
"Yep, I did. What of it? And after you leave, I'll probably lay on your side for a while because the pillow smells like you. I'm ridiculous when I'm in love. We're talking Hallmark over here. — Alice Clayton

10 August, 1939

Confession: I am nineteen years old, and I've been kissed many times. But I've never been kissed like that.

It felt like drowning but not needing to breathe. Like falling but never hitting the ground. Even now, my hands are shaking, and my heart is so swollen and fat it feels like it's going to burst, or I'm going to burst. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to bury my head in my pillow and scream until I fall asleep, because maybe when I go to sleep I can relive it.
I can't believe it happened, yet I think I've been waiting for it to happen for the last seven years, ever since I conned Angelo into kissing me the first time. I've been waiting for him for so long, and for a couple of hours tonight, in a little world that was only big enough for the two of us, he was mine.
But I don't know if I will be able to keep him. I'm afraid when tomorrow comes, I'll be waiting for him again.
Eva Rosselli — Amy Harmon

On Hayao Miyazaki
I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.
"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said, "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."
Is that like the "pillow words" that separate phrases in Japanese poetry?
"I don't think it's like the "pillow word." He clapped his hands three or four times. "The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it's just busyness, but if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension. If you just have constant tension at 80 degrees all the time you just get numb. — Roger Ebert

I don't want a man to validate me or take care of me. If I have a man in my life, I want him to enhance me. — Michelle M. Pillow

Then I stay beside you for as long as we have." He kept stroking my hair. Cats like to be petted. Cait Sidhe like to pet. "October, I meant it when I told you I was not leaving you. I will never leave you while both of us are living. You were not quite this human when I met you, and you were far less human when I finally allowed myself to love you. But the essential core of your being has remained the same no matter what the balance of your blood."
"How is it that you always know the exact right stupid romance novel thing to say?" I asked, leaning up to kiss him.
He smiled against my lips. When I pulled back, he said. "I was a student of Shakespeare before the romance novel was even dreamt. Be glad I do not leave you horrible poetry on your pillow, wrapped securely around the bodies of dead rats. — Seanan McGuire

Ya smell like honey," he said.
"I'm allergic to bees," she whispered.
"I'll do my best not to sting ya, love. — Michelle M. Pillow

He kissed the corner of her lips before whispering by her ear, And that was just my hand, love. — Michelle M. Pillow

I'd once again see that bob of blonde hair back on my pillow, that pink hot smile beaming toward me as I heroically win her heart in some kind of Count of Monte Cristo or Great Gatsby-esque gesture ... you know minus the long imprisonment or swimming pool death! — Tom Conrad

What I love about how my career has gone up to this point is that I've always, always put my head down on my pillow at night, and I've been able to say that I've done, honestly, what I've felt like I wanted to do. And that's really all you can hope for in everything you do. — Debbie Gibson

I didn't sleep all night, thinking. I thought about you, about those puppy eyes you give me, when you fake your sadness to make me smile-- and that upper lip of yours that brings life to all of my senses. I thought about your laughter when you get tickled, and that soft mellow place near your arm pit that I wish could be knit into a pillow for me to hug all night long. I thought about your stomach, your soft and sensitive stomach, scared like a baby kitten under the pouring rain. And I remembered the feeling of protection that comes washing over me when I get a glimpse of it, the feeling of covering it with the layers of my very own skin. I remembered your head when it rests on my heart, a rock sheltering itself on the verdure of infinity. I remembered your silky black hair, and how I never imagined that hair curls so thin could twirl, in the way they do, the rigid core of my existence. — Malak El Halabi

I woke up to the warm sun on my naked back. Finger tips traveled down my spine, and back up. A little circle over my shoulder blade, and then back down again. My hands were under my pillow and my face was turned away from Tucker. I smiled when I felt his lips gently touch my shoulder.
"I love you," he murmured into my warm, sun kissed skin. — Nichele Reese

This is the opposite of love, I realize, when I look over and see my empty couch, see right through my imaginary companions. The opposite of love isn't hate; it isn't even indifference. It's fucking disembowelment. Hara-kiri. Taking a huge shovel and digging out your own heart, and your intestines, and leaving behind nothing. Nothing of yourself to give, nothing, even, to take away. Nothing but a quiet pulse and some mildly entertaining soap operas.

If to love is to hand over self and heart, then this, my friend, this - to self-disembowel - is its opposite.

I wish I knew how to needlepoint so I could stitch it onto a fucking pillow. — Julie Buxbaum

I love my career. It is a career. A difficult one that takes many hours and total dedication to my craft. It is also what I was born to do
tell stories and entertain. — Michelle M. Pillow

I fall asleep and dream that Mama and my former psychologist are sitting across from me, at either end of the sofa, talking. And that, every once in a while, Mama leans forward to feel my forehead or straighten the pillow she has slipped under my head. In my dream, I hear the psychologist say: So your friend was in love with your husband? Was that why she told him about the slap? To make him leave you? "Or — Caroline Eriksson

Home is where I take up such a tiny portion of the memory foam; home is a splintered word. His pillow is a sweat-stained map of an escape plot, also a map of love's dear abandon. (When did he give way, at which breath?) Forgiveness may mean retrospectively abandoning the pillow and abandoning the photograph of someone with curious eyes, kissing my toes, poolside. I paint my toes Big Apple Red. I don't know what to do about the shock of red nails on clean, white tiles except get used to it. (And when he gave way, was there room for feelings or the words for feeling?) While I brush my teeth, I can see him in my periphery at the other sink. The outline of him lulls and stings. (And when he gave way, was it the end of the beginning of suffering?) I draw his profile near, I make him brush his teeth with me, he spits and makes a mess. I could love another face, but why? — Karen Green

Do not pay attention to my cousins. Every family needs a couple idiots and we keep them around for entertainment. — Michelle M. Pillow

I felt my soul overwhelmed with sorrow because, though I'm not in the least fond of dancing, I should have liked to dance with someone whom I adored with all my heart: I should have liked to have that someone there so that I could relieve my tension by telling him everything that I confided only to Fanchette or to my pillow (and not even to my diary) because I so wildly needed that someone, and this humiliated me, and I would never surrender myself except to the someone whom I should completely love and completely know - dreams, in short, that would never be realized! — Colette

It's my first love what I dreaming of when I go to bed, when I lay my head upon my pillow. — Nikka Costa

If I really wanted you to love me, I should have presented more of a challenge." She burrowed deeper into a pillow. "My hair is a mess."
Mikhail sat on the edge of the bed, took the mass of silk in his hands, and gently began to weave the thick strands into a long, loose braid, "If you presented much more of a challenge, little one, my heart would never be able to take it." He sounded amused. — Christine Feehan

When I walked out again I could hear Toby at the foot of the stairs, calling up to me, undoubtedly prevented from ascending by Miss Kilnside.

"What do you want?" I shouted down the stairs.

"Will you come and talk to me, please?" he called back.

"Why should I?" I asked.

"Because I fucking love you!" he shouted, and I heard Miss Kilnside sharply rebuff him for his language, but after that I could hear nothing because I'd slammed the door of my room behind me.

The rag doll was lying on my pillow, staring up at me through her one button eye, glaring at me. I picked it up and threw it against the wall with all the force I could muster; it fell behind the radiator.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed at it, or me; I couldn't tell. — A.J. Mullarky

[Annie] "I just wondered ... is slowly a good thing?"
"Is slowly ... " His fingers relaxed and she felt rather than saw his smile. He brushed his fingertips across her lips, then sank back to his pillow. "Oh yes, Annie love. Slowly is a very good thing."
"Oh, my. — Maggie Osborne

Home at last. Why was I not feeling relief? I turn in m bed thinking of the last time that I had laid my head on that pillow. Sadness took over me almost instantly. A pillow soaked in tears, the feeling of someone tearing a part of my chest out, it replayed in my head as if it had happened yesterday. I coculdn't believe that that girl was me. I was so much stronger than that, how had I allowed myself to become so vulnerable? I never thought that I would be the girl who'd get her heart broken. I never thought that he'd be the one to break it. But I was, and I know he did. I know, because, no one will ever know how much I cried that night. — Everance Caiser

With a hand on the back of his neck, Raleigh pulled him down until their foreheads touched. "I love you. I want to suffocate you in your sleep with your pillow sometimes, but I love you."
Steven chuckled and nipped Raleigh's full bottom lip. "I love you too, Cony." Running his fingers through the back of the thick black hair, Steven urged Raleigh forward. "Please don't murder me in my sleep." Their lips met. — J.L. Langley

Bright Star
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors
No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death. — John Keats

THERE ARE FEW THINGS as beautiful as a glass bottle filled with deep amber whiskey. Liquor shines when the light hits it, reminiscent of precious things like jewels and gold. But whiskey is better than some lifeless bracelet or coronet. Whiskey is a living thing capable of any emotion that you are. It's love and deep laughter and brotherhood of the type that bonds nations together. Whiskey is your friend when nobody else comes around. And whiskey is solace that holds you tighter than most lovers can. I thought all that while looking at my sealed bottle. And I knew for a fact that it was all true. True the way a lover's pillow talk is true. True the way a mother's dreams for her napping infant are true. But the whiskey mind couldn't think its way out of the problems I had. So I took Mr. Seagram's, put him in his box, and placed him up on the shelf where he belonged. — Walter Mosley

Sometimes,' he whispered at last, 'sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.'
He couldn't see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes.
'What do you sing?' she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head.
'No song I've ever heard, or know,' he said softly. 'But I know I'm singing it for you. — Diana Gabaldon

I know what this is," he whispers, his voice faint above the music. I've known it from that first night I saw you at the show, but now there's no doubt in my mind."

My gaze is entwined with his. Our eyes are locked and the key is gone. My heart feels full in my chest, heavy but in a good way.

"It's love," he says, letting the words slip freely from his mouth. And when they do, they fill the air and multiply like musical notes in a cartoon.

"Love," I say as the record crackles and skips.

"Love," he whispers back, weaving his fingers in mine.

And when I set my head on his pillow, and our bodies become one, for the first time in my life I feel as if everything in this crazy, complicated world makes complete and utter sense. — Sarah Jio

You have been the pillow
I lay my weary soul upon — Richard L. Ratliff

On the night she died and they took her away, her husband collapsed, and in his sleep he heard her - she was there, and she lay her head down on the pillow next to him and said, "My love." And after that he slept happily, and at the funeral he was calm and dignified, though he'd lost a great deal of weight, and was honest and upright, and at the wake, when everyone had gathered at his apartment, he told them all that she had come to him and called him "My love." And everyone froze, because they knew what he said was true - and the photograph no longer hung over his desk. — Ludmilla Petrushevskaya

I slept well last night. But when I woke this morning, I missed you so intensely. I don't even know how to describe the sensation. I looked at the other pillow, and it just seemed wrong that you weren't there. As though I'd woken up missing my own arm or half of my heart. I felt incomplete. So I rose, and dressed, and I just started walking toward you
because I couldn't move in any there direction. — Tessa Dare

I love you because you always have a T-shirt under your pillow for me, even if you don't know I'm coming to stay. I love you because you know I want sugar in my tea in the morning but not at night and because you always pretend you forgot I wanted a skinny hot chocolate in Starbucks because you know I really prefer full fat but don't like to order it in case the girl behind the counter thinks I'm fat.'
Alex started to smile. So I carried on. — Lindsey Kelk

Return those shoes to the shoemaker Return this hand to my father This pillow to the pillowmaker Those slippers to the shop. That wainscot to the carpenter, But my mind my tranquil and eternal Mind Return it to whom? — Jack Kerouac

I sit down next to him, and he pulls me to his side. Then he lies down so that I'm draped across him. My hip is tucked between him and the back of the couch. "I don't want to go home yet," he says quietly. He pulls my head down to his chest, and I press my face against it. His hand settles on the back of my head, and he starts to stroke down the length of my hair. "Then don't go," I say quietly. He doesn't. He just threads his fingers into my hair and drags them down my back, over and over, until my eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep on his chest. I wake up the next morning tucked into my own bed, the covers pulled up to my chin. I sit up and look around. Beside me on the pillow is a note. I open it up and read. Are you in love with me yet? — Tammy Falkner

It's okay not to love us. " I kept my face buried in my pillow, yet my ears were on full alert. "And I'm not going to say that I love you, because I haven't known you long enough to feel that way. I like you very much and I want you to be my daughter forever, but love is something that grows with shared experiences. I feel the buds of love growing, but it hasn't blossomed yet." I could not believe she was being so honest. She took a long breath. "There is nothing we can say to make you believe we'll be here for you. You'll only learn it by living with us year after year. — Ashley Rhodes-Courter

I turned to see his expression. When I saw that he was serious, I shot hum a dubious look. "Sleeping in between the toilet and the tub on a cold, hard tile floor with a vomiting idiot was one of your best nights? That's sad, Trav."
"No, sitting up with you when you're sick and you falling asleep in my lap was one of my best night." ( ... ) "Thanks, Trav. I won't make you babysit me again."
He leaned against his pillow. "Whatever. No one can hold your hair back like I can. — Jamie McGuire

Usually while I lay in bed, I liked to think of new things I could do for Lynnie. Maybe I could let her try my pillow to see if she liked it better. Or I could bring her a new cracker she'd never tried. Or maybe I could even find a new book that she'd never heard of and read it to her, even though she had heard of every book in the world. That night I knew that nothing I could do would make her feel better. So I lay in bed and listened to her mournful noise and didn't feel love or hate or anger or anything at all except despair. — Cynthia Kadohata

Buying baubles, are we?" She flipped the box open, blinked. "Oh my."
"I guess I should tell you, I bought it for your mother. Gonna ask her to marry me." He pulled
himself up a bit on the pillow and slid straight down again. "Got a problem with that?"
"I might, seeing as you proposed to me five minutes ago, you fickle bastard." A little teary-eyed,
she sat on the side of the bed. "It's beautiful, David. She'll love it. She loves you."
"She's everything I've ever wanted. Beautiful, beautiful Pilar. Inside and out. Second chances all
around. I'll be careful with her. — Nora Roberts

When I make love to you,' he said in a low whisper right by my ear, 'I want to be able to give you one hundred percent of my attention. Right now, with the Unit on our tail, I'm going to be giving you less than fifty percent. I've got one eye on the door and one on you, not to mention a gun under the pillow. Not exactly the accessory I imagined. — Sarah Alderson