Very few of my books are about who stole the Maltese Falcon.

I just took a little nap. I stole it from an infant.

Be honest because you stole it, not because blue/green/yell a little yellow. Dandelions just don’t meow like regular lions.

The goodbad news is she only stole half. The badgood news is she stole half. And when it’s love that’s been stolen, a hole the size of half your heart feels like the whole thing...

I want to be a cowboy, but only long enough to barge into a saloon and bellow, “Who’s the yellowbelly that stole my happy trail?

She stole my heart, so I stole it back—plus some other items of value.

Normally I charge 60 cents on the dollar for stolen merchandise. But since it was my mother-in-law, and I stole it from her, I only charged her 50 cents on the dollar. That’s love.