Quotes from Gillian Flynn

Camille, do you ever feel like bad things are going to happen, and you can't stop them? You can't do anything, you just have to wait?

If I say I don't want to read the book, I don't want to read the book.

And people loved me. I was no longer the pity case (with, how weird, the dead sister). I was the pretty girl (with, how sad, the dead sister). And so I was popular.

My brother slaughtered my family when I was seven. My mom, two sisters, gone: bang bang, chop chop, choke choke.

Women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves... we've left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

I drank the rest of the sours and had dark sticky dreams. My mother had cut me open and was unpacking my organs, stacking them in a row on my bed as my flesh flapped to either side.

People behaved mostly well and then they died.

In Amma's snideness, I caught a whiff of desperation and righteousness. Like she'd whined at breakfast: I wish I'd be murdered. Amma didn't want anyone to get more attention than her. Certainly not girls who couldn't compete when they were alive.

I was never really on my side in any argument. I liked the Old Testament spitefulness of the phrase got what she deserved.

Libby must have marinated in anxious stomach acid for nine months, soaking up all that worry.

I'd never noticed him anywhere near the pool, but he knew my swimwear cold, which was flattering and alarming at the same time.

He promised to take care of me, and yet I feel afraid. I feel like something is going wrong, very wrong, and that it will get even worse.

Well, a little girl is more likely to trust a person who reminds her of her momma, right?" Depends on what her momma's like, I thought.

Another time-honored ploy: A woman is less likely to throw you out if she's offered her hospitality. If you have allergies or a cold, asking for a tissue is even better. Women love vulnerability. Most women.

Richard wanted to take me to all the town's secret places, the nooks only the locals knew about. Places where people meet to screw or smoke dope, where teens drink, or folks go to sit by themselves and decide where their lives had unraveled. Everyone has a moment where life goes off the rails.

People are strange

Was I good at caring for Amma because of kindness? Or did I like caring for Amma because I have Adora's sickness? I waver between the two, especially at night, when my skin begins to pulse. Lately I've been leaning toward kindness.

There's something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.

Des, who brought me things I wanted (tulips, wine) to make me do the things he wanted (love him). Nick just wanted me to be happy, that's all, very pure. Maybe I mistook that for laziness.

She tried to speak; her mouth opened, once, twice, silent, a mermaid washed ashore.

They have no harsh edges with each other, no spiny conflicts, they ride through life like conjoined jellyfish - expanding and contracting instinctively, filling each other's spaces liquidly.

They pictured themselves dashing around Manhattan, latte in one hand, cell phone in the other, adorably breaking a designer heel while hailing a cab, and falling into the arms of a charming, disarming soul mate with winningly floppy hair.

I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script.

Amy's story could have gone a million other ways, but she met me, and bad things happened.