Quotes from Chet Williamson

Bosco Bob! Help!" There were no returning shouts of "I'll save you" from any cavalry, and Jazz just knew he was going to wind up in a road gang chained between guys named Bubba and Maurice.

The physician nodded as if that had told him something, although Don suspected it was just a thing done mechanically. You hear enough stuff you don't understand, maybe you just start nodding. Oh, sure, I got you. Makes perfect sense.

The photo was shaking in his hand. It wasn't just an act of love he was looking at. This was something dirty, pornographic. The kind of thing some grimy character might try to sell you on a shadowy street in a Mexican border town. Hey, you wanna buy some dirty peek-chures?

The building was old. A more prosperous community would have torn it down years ago, but Ice Islanders just kept fixing it, making do. The prevailing attitude seemed to be that good teachers and not fancy buildings were the key to a solid education. A teacher needed books, a blackboard, chalk, and a classroom. Period. The function of the building was to keep the students warm and dry; anything else would be extravagant.

What the hell are you, Meyers? A Nazi?" Brad smiled. "No. I hate Nazis. I like their uniforms." "What about that picture of Hitler?" "I like his moustache." "And that big flag?" "I like red, white, and black, and I couldn't find an Egyptian flag, all right?" The man laughed. "Christ, Meyers, you're so fuckin' weird.…

At the Blarney Stone, an hour had passed since Stephen and Joseph first sat down. A lot had gone down in that time, the least of which was another pitcher of beer. Now they sat, staring dully at each other like a pair of frogs in formaldehyde, wondering how to wrap things up.

Fay generously accepted this failing, and did without her brood, and tried not to overwhelm Robin with all the love she was meant to lavish on a houseful of kids. Her religion truly meant something to her, and she was ennobled by it. Her husband, on the other hand, dug into his Bible like a cave, burrowing away from life, which he hated. He wanted only one thing from life, and that was his Heavenly reward for having endured it.

I saw this on TV," June Sibley said. "He'll go in there and get the guy to let the girl go and stay in himself. Oh, my God, he's so brave." "Oh, my ass. He's so stupid," Del Franklin said.

Something up there is madder than a baboon with its ass on fire.

One minute, he thought, you're allowed the illusion that things are pretty much the way they've always been and always will be. Next time you turn around, some pinhead rips the world out from under you, and the weirdness starts pouring in from every direction …

He began to cross the street, thinking as he did that everyone was really very foolish to be screaming and yelling, to be afraid. After all, what could the dead do? They weren't moving, were not even speaking

You think too much. That's the problem with you intellectual types. You spend so much time thinking about life that you can't live.

A cursory examination of the A&M order proved that Flash had fucked up. The stock numbers were in the wrong columns. The amounts were wrong. Everything was wrong. "Okay, new rule," Garris sighed to the empty store. "No more dope smoking in the stockroom while we're doing record orders.

They laughed again, the way one laughs at dead baby jokes: nervously, guiltily, and helplessly.

Straining against her leash, the puppy tried to go a hundred different ways at once.

If I hadn't stopped that guy, everybody woulda just let him go. Nobody wants to put their ass on the line for anything, you know?

know, it's kinda nice to have some people in here who died of natural causes. Every once in a while, an inexplicable murder can brighten your day. But enough is enough, you know what I mean?

The name of the film was Gore Feast. True to its name, Gore Feast had been moving along at a ferocious clip, serving up fresh bodies to mutilate at regular five-minute intervals. Heads staved in with hammers. Eyes turned to pudding with eggbeaters. Torsos dangling from meathooks. Brains in blenders. Kidney pie. It made Rudy very hungry indeed.

I'm content with my role, Mr. Tung. I have no ambitions. All I ask is for honest work killing your kind, and to be left alone to handle my affairs.

Got a headache, huh?" Allan nodded. "Severe." "Why don't you use what doctors recommend most?" "Oh, God …" "Electroshock therapy! It really works!

He had not put the light over the garage door on, or the porch light on, or any outside light. They would be visible from the road. He had the crazy idea that light would draw attention to him, could somehow be a magnet for someone (who? the cops? the ASPCA? St. Francis of Assisi?) to discover what he'd done. That was the last thing he needed now.

The voice was the tip of a long cold stiletto, inserting itself into Stephen's belly with infinite, almost lackadaisical, slowness. The voice was a forkload of maggoty flesh, pressed insistently against his lips. The voice was a Checker cab, wheeling suddenly around some corner and straight toward him, with its bright eyes glaring over the ravenous, grinning grill. The voice was a train. A long, cold train. Upon him now. And he was powerless before it.

Men are interesting specimens," Althea said. "They never cease to come up with ways to screw things up.

The plots of God are perfect. The Universe is a Plot of God. --Edgar Allan Poe, Eureka