Quotes from Caroline Kepnes

I don't say anything. I know the power of silence. I remember my dad saying nothing and I remember his silences more vividly than I remember the things he said.

only takes one weirdo to spot you inside and decide to go and get you.

Until tonight , she thought death was for grandparents and goldfish.

Do . . . you . . . speak . . . English?" she asks. NO, BUT I SPEAK CUNT.

His lower lip trembles. "Is this . . . are you from the network?" I look at him. Could he possibly be that stupid? "No," I say. "I'm from the world.

I'll fucking kill Hugh Grant.

I wish there were a way for me to ask about a red ladle but it's not a normal question

I'm like an asshole in a sitcom who learns the same fucking lesson every week and this is my life .

In terms of sheer annoyance, nobody I have ever known has compared to Sare Worthington, saver of the environment, native of Portland, Maine, forever wishing that she were from Portland, Oregon. Bitch should have just moved there.

I peeked in the bag. Do you know what was in there? I'll tell you what was in there: a collapsible tray table. Is there any sadder purchase in this fucking world? Maybe a CD of C+C Music Factory's Greatest Hits, but that's about it.

Consciousness is the monster and it wins.

You didn't tie your shoelaces and you blamed the world when you tripped.

the key to life is to believe in something that matters, something big and beautiful, something more profound than fame, money.

well, you can't call yourself a hero if you're lying to someone you love.

Coachella is a festival fashion show where people dress up like hippies and pretend that Passion Pit is as good as the Rolling Stones.

You're lucky to get your heart broke. That just means you have a heart.

I start to walk up the stairs and he rants about what an asshole I am and what his father's gonna do to me and then he's begging, "Gimme a copy of the David Foster Wallace! I'll read it! I'll read it and then you can make a test I swear! Joe! Joe!" The basement is insulated. Mr. Mooney put his money into making this place a private place. Benji can scream all he wants and nobody's gonna hear him,

Amy is a Sharpie; she's passionate.

Sometimes you love someone so much that you can't bear a taste or a text because only this kind of moment will do. Shared air. Stillness on a love seat.

This is like the end of The Corrections," I say and the problem with books is that they end. They seduce you. They spread their legs to you and pull you inside. And you go deep and leave your possessions and your ties to the world at the door and you like it inside and you don't want for your possessions or your ties and then, the book evaporates. You turn the page and there is nothing and we are both crying.

He doesn't hate me. He hates himself. If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.

And [Benji] cheats on you, Beck. A lot. Compulsively. He is in intense pursuit of a performance artist who fucks with his head the way he fucks with yours.

I hate it here... ...Everyday is actually three days, a freezing morning, a blistering day, and a cool night. You need a lot of clothes. And every day is the same day, which is why it's important to hang a calendar. I see why people move here and wake up one day scratching their heads, wondering when they turned forty or what year it is.

Your online life is a variety show, so if anything, the fact that you didn't put me in your stand-up act means you covet me. Maybe even more than I realize, since right now your hand is heading to your cunt yet again.