Quotes from Gillian Flynn

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

I just want to live until I can't anymore, she said.

Should I remove my soul before I come inside?

A veces sienta bien joder a alguien. En vez de que siempre lo jodan a uno

Feeling sad means having too much time on your hands, usually. Really. I'm not a licensed therapist but usually it means too much time.

Just as Amy took the credit for making me my best self, I had to take the blame for bringing the madness to bloom in Amy. There were a million men who would have loved, honored, and obeyed Amy and considered themselves lucky to do so. Confident, self-assured, real men who wouldn't have forced her to pretend to be anything but her own perfect, rigid, demanding, brilliant, creative, fascinating, rapacious, megalomaniac self.

I got it, Go said. Go home, fuck her brains out, then smack her with your penis and scream, There's some wood for you bitch!

She talked to me because we had the same chemicals in our blood: shame, anger, greed. Unjustified nostalgia.

The good stuff in me I got from my mom. I can joke, I can laugh, I can tease, I can celebrate and support and praise – I can operate in sunlight, basically – but I can't deal with angry or tearful women.

I'm just tired of people judging me because I fit into a certain mold.

Sometimes it feels good to fuck with something. Instead of always being fucked with.

Natalie was buried in the family plot, next to a gravestone that already bore her parents' names. I know the wisdom, that no parents should see their child die, that such an event is like nature spun backward. But it's the only way to truly keep your child. Kid grow up, they forge more potent allegiances. They find a spouse or a lover. They will not be buried with you. The Keenes, however, will remain the purest form of family. Underground.

The phrase fuck you may not rest on the tip of my tongue, but it's near. Midtongue.

I'm so much happier now that I'm dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy lying shitting oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. Nick Dunne took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That's murder. Let the punishment fit the crime.

I will find you, Amy. Lovesick words, hateful intentions.

I knew you could do it, I knew you could, Libby, she mumbled into my hair, warm and smoky. Do what? Try just a little harder.

It's all too much for her, the cruelty of human beings.

Love should require both partners to be very best at all times.

I am smiling a big adopted-orphan smile as I write this ... I still love scribbling the word - WRITER - any time on a form, questionnaire, document asks for my occupation. Fine, I write personality quizzes, I don't write about the Great Issues of the Day, but I think it's fair to say I am a writer ... ('Adopted-orphan smile', I mean, that's not bad, come on.)

I'm not good at things like that: haircuts or oil changes or dentist visits. When I moved into my bungalow, I spent the first three months swaddled in blankets because I couldn't deal with getting the gas turned on. It's been turned off three times in the past few years, because sometimes I can't quite bring myself to write a check. I have trouble maintaining.

I'm not really a nerd; I only aspire to be one.

You just want an excuse to stay,' she whispered. 'You two, you're fucking addicted to each other. You are literally going to be a nuclear family, you do know that? You will explode. You will fucking detonate. You really think you can possibly do this for, what, the next eighteen years? You don't think she'll kill you ?

She is an incredibly intelligent idiot

Nick loved me. A six-o kind of love: He looooooved me. But he didn't love me, me. Nick loved a girl who doesn't exist. I was pretending, the way I often did, pretending to have a personality. I can't help it, it's what I've always done: The way some women change fashion regularly, I change personalities.