Quotes from Gillian Flynn

Wouldn't it be so lovely to just forget about Nick, those awful five years, and move on?

We called them Tonys, because my dad was named Tony and he could never say no to anyone (although I assume he said no to my mom at least once, when she asked him to stay).

I'd let the words run over my brain and out my ears, like a terrified cancer patient hearing all that coded jargon and understanding nothing, except that it was very bad news.

Would you still love me if I killed someone?" I said nothing. My breath was coming too fast. "I would still love you," Go said. "Go, do you really need me to say it?" She stayed silent. "I did not kill Amy." She stayed silent. "Do you believe me?" I asked. "I love you.

Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. I have known so many sick women all my life.

Today I like my first ladies with a little bite.

I carry an inner monologue, but the words often don't reach my lips

I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there—hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body—a Libby that's telling me to get up, do something, grow up, move on.

Please let him look. I didn't need to hide from someone courting oblivion as ardently as I am.

Frank Curry thinks I'm a soft touch. Might be because I'm a woman. Might be because I'm a soft touch.

It was a punishing whim on my part, a nasty, selfish twist of the knife.

It sounded artificial, like a beauty contestant pledging world peace.

I sat in a room the color of egg yolk for two hours while the officer got my story down. The whole time I was thinking about Natalie going to autopsy, and how I would like to sneak in and put a fresh Band-Aid on her knee.

It doesn't matter, because I have found my match. It's Nick, laid-back and calm, smart and fun and uncomplicated. Untortured, happy. Nice. Big penis.

I know I am right not to settle

You are better than any storybook, you are better than anything anyone could make up.

Bear gifts if you can't bear anything else.

I might as well have said dot dot dot aloud.

I wanted to slice barren into my skin. That's how I'd stay, my insides unused. Empty and pristine. I pictured my pelvis split open, to reveal a tidy hollow, like the nest of a vanished animal.

being an only child—you grow up knowing you aren't allowed to disappoint, you're not even allowed to die. There isn't a replacement toddling around; you're it. It makes you desperate to be flawless, and it also makes you drunk with the power. In such ways are despots made.

Everywhere I go is the river. I'm following it or it's following me. I know, suddenly, what I must do.

His fingers tugged at the towel. I held tight to it, hard as a dishrag on my breasts, and shook my head. What's this? he whispered into my ear. This is the unforgiving light of morning, I whispered back. Time to drop the illusion. What illusion? That anything can be okay, I said, and kissed his cheek.

I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.

You know how people sometimes say they have to hurt because if they don't, they're so numb they won't feel anything?