Do you want a cookie? - What? - A cookie. Like an Oreo. Do you want one? - No. - How can you not want a cookie? - I just don't. - Okay, fine, let's say you did want a cookie. Let's say you were dying for a cookie, and there were cookies in the cupboard. What would you do? - I'd eat a cookie? - Exactly. That's all I'm saying. - What are you saying? - That if people want cookies, they should get a cookie. It's what people do. - Let me guess. Dad won't let you have a cookie? - No. Even though I'm practically starving to death, he won't even consider it. He says I have to have a sandwich first. - And you don't think that's fair. - You just said you'd get a cookie if you wanted one. So why can't I? I'm not a little kid. I can make my own decisions. - Hmm. I can see why this bothers you so much. - It's not fair. If he wants a cookie, he can have one. If you want a cookie, you can have one. But if I want a cookie, the rules don't count. Like you said, it's not fair. - So what are you going to do? - I'm going to eat a sandwich. Because I have to. Because the world isn't fair to ten-year-olds.
I took a bite of cookie and chewed. "Hmmm," I said, trying not to spit crumbs. "Clear vanilla notes, too-sweet chocolate chips, distinct flavor of brown sugar. A decent cookie, not spectacular. Still, a good-hearted cookie, not pretentious." I turned to Fang. "What say you?" "It's fine." Some people just don't have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.
Gideon opened his and read, "Prosperity will knock on your door soon." I snorted. Cary shot me a look. "I know, right? You snatched someone else's cookie, Cross." "He better not be anywhere near someone else's cookie," I said dryly. Reaching over, Gideon plucked half of mine out of my fingers. "Don't worry, angel. Your cookie is the only one I want.
Eve: "Was that like a cookie?" Roarke: "Hmmm?" Eve: "You know, have a cookie. You'll feel better. Were you making me feel better?" Roarke: "I certainly hope so, it worked for me. I wanted you. I always do." Eve: "It's funny how men can wake up with their brains in their cocks." Roarke: "It makes us what we are. Let's take a shower. I'll give you another cookie.
It's not complicated and it doesn't compare to my problem, now give me a damn cookie I think I earned it, ' Jill snapped. Chris grinned like it was Christmas morning. 'Yes, you did.' He brought her a cookie. 'Very good, my young one. You've made Chris very happy with this little tidbit of information.
Oh, I forgot to tell you," Cookie said. "Amber wants your dad to get a teriyaki machine so she can sing for all the lonely barflies." "I'm a good singer, mom." Only a twelve-year-old could make the word mom sound blasphemous. I leaned into Cookie, "Does she know its not called--?" "No," she whispered. "Are you gonna tell her?" "No. It's much funnier this way.
I think the lies I make the most are in regards to my hopes and intentions for myself. As for lies I tell other people - I will certainly tell lies. When somebody is very ill and looks awful, and you tell them they look nice. Or if you just ate the last cookie, if someone asked me if I ate the last cookie, I would definitely lie about that.
Did you need Jordan for something, Cookie?" Gavin asked with thinly veiled impatience. Hands back in his pockets, he took a step away from Jordan. "Or do you merely excel at crappy timing?" "Sorry, Chief." Cookie's short purple-and-blue hair stuck out in a hundred different directions, and she winked when she peeked out from behind the swinging door... "It's a gift." "That's not what I would call it, " he grumbled.
And Raphael will be joining us, ' Andrea said. 'So you get twice the backup. Nobody will be killing you on our watch.' So that was what this was all about. I got a cookie after all. 'Aww. I had no idea you cared. I'm touched.' 'You should be.' Andrea bit another bacon slice. 'I'm willing to abandon the tender embrace of my future mother-in-law for your sake.' 'About that, ' Aunt B said. 'I'm coming, too.' Dear God, the cookie was poisoned." 12% in 'Magic Rises' by Ilona Andrews
He reached out, opened the glove compartment, and took out a gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 five-shot special. It looked a lot like my gun. "I stopped by your apartment this morning and picked this up for you," Ranger said. "I found it in the cookie jar." "Tough guys always keep their gun in the cookie jar." "Name one." "Rockford." Ranger grinned. "I stand corrected.
Everyone needs to calm down! Okay, you got a weird cookie. So what? I don't mean to swat your ego here, buddy, but this smacks a little narcissistic for me. God is not trying to communicate to you through a cookie. It doesn't work that way. God's not all Jack-and-the-magic-beans and tooth-beneath-the pillow voodoo. You don't just close your eyes, flap open your Bible, and slam a steak knife into a verse. It's that sort of thinking that leads to witch trials and Senate probes.