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— Sherrilyn Kenyon"Tell him what? Kat’s a raging nymphomaniac. (Kytara) Tara! (Kat) Oh, all right. She’s so bland she makes plain toast look spicy. (Kytara)"
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He raised his brows. "You're drunk." "Am not!" He gave me a bland look. "A drunk's famous last words before they fall flat on their face.
— J. Lynn
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Even the street, the sunshine, the very air had a special Sunday quality. We walked differently on Sundays, with greater propriety and stateliness. Greetings were more formal, more subdued, voices more meticulously polite. Everything was so smooth, bland, polished. And genuinely so, because this was Sunday. In church the rustling and the stillness were alike pervaded with the knowledge that all was for the best. Propriety ruled the universe. God was in His Heaven, and we were in our Sunday clothes.
— Rose Wilder Lane
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