Quotes from Gillian Flynn

Libby was a Christmas baby, which meant she never got the right amount of presents. Patty would hold one extra gift aside—and Happy Birthday to Libby!—but they all knew the truth, Libby got ripped off. Libby rarely felt less than ripped off.

My eyes flipped open at exactly six A.M. This was no avian fluttering of the lashes, no gentle blink toward consciousness. The awakening was mechanical. A spooky ventriloquist-dummy click of the lids: The world is black and then, showtime! 6-0-0 the clock said -in my face, first thing I saw. 6-0-0. It felt different. I rarely woke at such a rounded time. I was a man of jagged risings: 8:43, 11:51, 9:26. My life was alarmless.

El sueño es como el gato: sólo viene a ti si lo ignoras..

She was wearing a black pantsuit with a pale pink turtleneck underneath, a painfully aspirational look for a stripper.

It is a line that is only a little funny, but it already has the feel of an inside joke, one that will get funnier with nostalgic repetition

But she did invite me to her house, and women like that don't invite over women like me unless they want something.

Just one olive, though

What a pure way to die.

Nick and I fit together. I am a little too much, and he is a little too little. I am a thornbush, bristling from the overattention of my parents, and he is a man of a million little fatherly stab wounds, and my thorns fit perfectly into them.

New York was packed with writers, real writers, because there were magazines, real magazines, loads of them. This was back when the Internet was still some exotic pet kept in the corner of the publishing world--throw some kibble at it, watch it dance on its little leash, oh quite cute, it definitely won't kill us in the night.

no entiendo por qué necesito demostrarte mi amor recordando exactamente las mismas cosas que tú, exactamente de la misma manera que las recuerdas tú.

And before he leans in, he brushes the sugar from my lips so he can taste me.

violent little girls.

I was busy thinking of all the people that had been harmed: intentionally, accidentally, deservedly, unfairly, slightly, completely.

I spent a lot of time before I actually wrote my first book going, How do you write a book? The answer is, you just write.

My life has begun to feel like an epilogue.

The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you, my mother used to say whenever I resisted her grooming.

DNA to me was some sort of magical element, some glowing goo that was always getting people out of prison

Amy. Please. He has that look, like I am being unreasonable, like he is so sure I am being unreasonable that I wonder if I am.

I like other people's things better. They come with other people's history.

A veces mis cicatrices tienen vida propia.

There was just me, left wretched in my childhood bed.

Y si todos interpretamos un papel, es imposible que exista nada semejante a un compañero de alma porque lo que tenemos no son almas de verdad.

What if you hurt because it feels so good? Like you have a tingling, like someone left a switch on in your body. And nothing can turn the switch off except hurting? What does that mean?