Quotes from Harlan Coben

By the third hole, Jack had already dropped three strokes off the lead. His complexion was cartoon Casper. His eyes were as vacant as the Bates Motel, his shoulders slumped like bags of wet peat moss.

But Matt's unease returned the moment he entered the Sprint store and started hearing about the two-year commitment. The salesman's smile looked somehow satanic, like the devil in one of those movies where a naïve guy sells his soul. When the salesman whipped out a map of the United States—the "nonroaming" areas, he informed them, were in bright red—Matt started to back away. As

Exteriors, you learn, are temporal and illusionary and thus meaningless.

FJ's eyes slithered toward Myron. Myron kept up the eye contact, but there was still nothing there, like looking into the windows of an abandoned building.

She's dying, Win. Cancer. She has maybe a week or two." "I know." Myron sat back. His throat felt dry. "Is that the entire message?" "She wanted you to know that it's your last chance to talk to her," Myron said. "Well, yes, that's true. It would be very difficult for us to chat after she's dead." Myron

The salesman kept jabbering. Matt tuned him out, but Olivia gave the man her full attention. She asked a question or two, just out of formality, but the salesman knew that this one was not only hooked, lined, and sinkered but fried up and halfway down the gullet.

When I was an assistant producer on A Current Affair. I booked you as an expert on the Robert Blake murder trial.' He turned to the spectators and bowed deeply. 'So, ladies and gentlemen, we've established the fact that I'm a media whore. Touché.' Another smattering of laughter. 'Still, Ms. Tynes, are you trying to tell the court that law enforcement was in favor of your journalistic twaddle to the point of cooperation?

FJ moved away then. Rocco and Bubba followed. Myron watched them disappear, his heart flapping in his chest like a caged condor.

The key was preparation. That was what separated the good from the great. The greats covered their tracks. The greats prepared for every eventuality.

What do you want me to say, Jess? We were together a long time. Of course there was a pang.

Myron entered his office building on Park Avenue. He exchanged a brief elevator smile with a young woman in a business suit. The elevator reeked of drugstore cologne, the kind where some guy decides that taking a shower is too time-consuming so he opts for sprinkling himself with enough cologne to glaze a wedding cake. The young woman sniffed and looked at Myron.

I'm explaining something to you. I didn't understand for a long time. But I do now. The sad songs are a safe hurt. It's a diversion. It's controlled. And maybe it helps you imagine that real pain will be like that. But it's not. Lucy knows that, of course. You can't prepare for real pain. You just have to let it rip you apart.

Ken used obfuscation. He kept random people's DNA samples—hair, spare tissue, saliva, whatever—in Tupperware containers. Sometimes he found the samples in public restrooms, disgusting as that might sound. One very good spot was at summer camp. Many of the counselors used the disposable razors, which he could easily swipe. Urinals provided pubic hair. Showers gave you more. With

It would be a cliché to say prison ages a man, but sometimes the cliché is apropos.

There have been cases in which pedophiles have done themselves harm after being caught.' 'Is that a fact? So you were worried that your entrapment might cause my client to attempt suicide?' 'Something like that, yes.' Flair put his hand to his chest. 'I'm touched.' 'Your Honor!' Portnoi shouted. Flair waved him off again. 'So you wanted to save my client?

Too much is made of "live every moment to its fullest." It is an unrealistic goal, one that leads to more stress than satisfaction. The secret to fulfillment is not about exciting adventures or living out loud—no one can maintain that kind of pace—but in welcoming

An old dog traipsed into the room on rigid legs. It looked like he was trying to wag his tail, but the result was a pitiful sway. He managed to lick Myron's hand with a dry tongue.

Myron stopped himself from saying any more. He had sounded asinine enough. He just needed a moment or two to gather himself, to figure out what the next step should be. Your

You're kidding, right?" Broome couldn't have looked more incredulous without plastic surgery. "Let me get this straight: Ray Levine told you that he showed up after you saw Stewart Green lying there.

What should she say? Nothing. Not right now anyway. Think it through. Time was a-wasting.

She frowned, again hating herself for the sentimentality, but maybe she should cut herself some slack. She tried to find the very spot where she had been standing that day, checking her bearings by using the house, moving a few feet left, then right, until she was certain, yes, this was the spot where that tender kiss took place. She

Hey," Matt called after her, holding up his new phone and arching an eyebrow. "Want to try out the, uh, video feature?" "The video only lasts fifteen seconds." "Fifteen seconds." He considered that, shrugged, and said, "So we'll extend foreplay." Olivia understandably groaned. They

Too much is made of "live every moment to its fullest." It is an unrealistic goal, one that leads to more stress than satisfaction. The secret to fulfillment is not about exciting adventures or living out loud—no one can maintain that kind of pace—but in welcoming and even relishing the quiet and familiar.

The Englewood Library sat on Grand Avenue off Palisades Avenue like a clunky spaceship. When it was erected in 1968, the building had probably been praised for its sleek, futuristic design; now it looked like a rejected movie prop for Logan's Run. Myron