Quotes from Harlan Coben

She remembered waiting for her beautiful Spencer, hearing the bell, peering out the windshield, watching the kids erupt-exit like ants scattering after a human boot toes their hill. She'd smile when she first laid eyes on him and most of the time, especially in the early days, Spencer would smile back. She

The good men, the ones who wanted to commit and raise children, were scooped up early. The field became thinner and thinner as the years went by.

We know that everything in our lives is complex and gray. Yet we somehow expect our relationships to never be anything but simple and pure.

Emily tried a smile, but it just wasn't happening. "Well, well, well," she said when they were alone. "If it isn't the good one I let get away.

Dumb goth kids who'd have to move up a step on the food chain to be called losers, maybe.

They were sitting at the enormous marble bar at La Sirena, an Italian restaurant in Chelsea's famed Maritime Hotel. The place was somehow sleek and warm, modern yet with a definitive sixties vibe. The border between dining inside and dining alfresco was almost nonexistent. Myron made a mental note to take Terese here pronto. There

I didn't say it was. I said everyone looks happy. That was kinda my point. If you judge the world by Facebook, you wonder why so many people take Prozac." Corinne

Kill a hundred, a thousand, on the other side, if need be. But don't let anyone hurt my boy.

Tom and Esperanza exchanged vows in a quaint church. White poppies lined the pews. Tom's side of the aisle was dressed in black and white—a sea of penguins. Esperanza's side had so many colors, Crayola sent a scout. It looked like the Halloween parade in Greenwich Village. The organ played beautiful hymns. The choir sang like angels. The setting could not have been more serene. For

Foot traffic was picking up. The girl who'd hurled the crushed can was now making out with her target. Ah, the French. A traffic officer started gesturing for a white van to stop blocking traffic. I turned and waited for Terese to answer. She put down her coffee. "I can't imagine." But there was a catch in her throat. A tell, if you were playing cards with her. She wasn't lying. I was pretty sure of that. But she wasn't telling me everything either.

Myron opened his mouth to counter. Then he stopped. Exhaustion was starting to take over. "I'm not sure I have an answer to that," he said. "At the end of the day, I like to win. I don't know why. I like ice cream too. I don't know why either." Win frowned. "Impressive simile," he said flatly. "Hey, it's late." Myron

Esse é o problema de se apaixonar. A pessoa começa a falar igual a uma letra ruim de música country.

You're the most trustworthy cop I know," Wilde said, "and look at how you bent the rules when it came to finding a cop killer.

It was also lazy parenting, he thought. Teach them to do the right thing because it's the right thing—not because Mom and Dad are looking over your shoulder.

Her "bailiff" was named Waco. He was a retired stand-up comic. Yes, for real. This was a TV set, not a courtroom, though it looked like one. While not exactly a trial, Hester did preside over a legal proceeding of a certain kind. The two parties sign a contract for arbitration. The producers pay the settlement, and both the plaintiff and the defendant are paid a hundred dollars a day. It's win-win

Myron put the phone back in his pocket and crossed the path. Dog Collar had his hands jammed into his pants pockets as though he was searching for something that had pissed him off. His shoulders were hunched. He had a tattoo on his neck—Myron couldn't tell what it was—and he was pulling on his cigarette as though he meant to finish it with one inhale. "Hey

A jej makija? wygl?da? na zrobiony w ciemnej szafie kulkami do paintballu.

Since he planned on sleeping in anyway, Myron started drinking. He was not what one would call a great drinker—he held his liquor about as well as a fourteen-year-old girl—but tonight, at this wonderful albeit bizarre celebration, he felt in the mood to imbibe. So did Win, though it took far more to get him buzzed. Cognac was mother's milk to Win. He rarely showed the effects, at least on the outside. Tonight

Myron was about to ask another follow-up question, but her posture made him rethink his words. Linda took advantage of his indecisiveness. She walked to the kitchen with an upright, fluid grace. Myron followed. Bucky seemed to snap out of a trance and trailed.

Tripp was like this—a suburban-dad philosopher. "You tell me." "It's

Myron trudged forward. Humidity hung in the air in a heavy blanket of beads. Myron's shirt began to feel sticky. The crickets were incessant and plenteous, their swarming tune as monotonous as a Mariah Carey CD, though not quite as grating. The grass tickled Myron's sockless ankles. Despite

As I mentioned earlier, my job is to get them to think critically. That was always more important to me than having them remember the specific philosophies of, say, Hobbes or Locke. You could always look those up and be reminded of what they were. Rather, what I really hoped was my students would learn to both respect and piss all over Hobbes and Locke. I wanted them to not only think outside the box, but to get to that outside by smashing the box into little pieces. Some

There was a rifle on his lap. Hey, Hunter, Myron said.

Win opened a leather-bound first-edition false front bookcase to reveal a refrigerator. He grabbed a Yoo-hoo chocolate drink and tossed it to Myron. Myron caught it, and reading the directions—"Shake It!"—did just that. Win opened the decanter and poured himself an exclusive cognac called, interestingly enough, The Last Drop. "I