Quotes from Gillian Flynn

The day after Independence Day, the sulfur from the fireworks mingling with the ocean salt - summer.

Nick's cell phone rings at ten A.M., and I can tell by his voice that it is Go. He sounds springy, boyish, the way he always does when he talks to her. The way he used to sound with me. He heads into the bedroom and shuts

I want to know more about true, complete people, not dirty scraps of humans.

Does anyone do anything profusely except apologize? Sweat, I guess.

The moral to the story being: Mr. Binks was a cheating dickweasel, but, you know, marriage is compromise.

Desi has loved me ever since the lie, I know he pictures making love to me, how gentle and reassuring he would be as he plunged into me, stroking my hair. I know he pictures me crying softly as I give myself to him.

I'm barely five foot—four foot, ten inches in truth, but I round up. Sue me. I'm thirty-one, but people tend to talk to me in singsong, like they want to give me fingerpaints.

Devo deixar minha alma do lado de fora antes de entrar?

Don't be discouraged—every relationship you have is a failure, until you find the right one.

soldiers on the battlefield of consumerism, armed with vinyl-covered checkbooks and quilted handbags.

There's no 'When Your Wife Goes Missing 101.

that night the light was on in Ben's room and someone was talking.

A las mujeres las consume la enfermedad. No es de extrañar teniendo en cuenta la gran cantidad de transito interno que soporta una mujer. Tampones y espéculos. Pollas dedos vibradores y mas cosas entre las piernas, por detrás, en la boca. A los hombres les encanta meter cosas dentro de las mujeres, ¿no es así? Pepinos, plátanos y botellas, un collar de perlas, un rotulador, un puño

The little brown house was my father's house, which was actually blue, but Amy was making another inside joke. I'd always liked our inside jokes the best – they made me feel more connected to Amy than any amount of confessional truth-telling or passionate lovemaking or talk-till-sunrising.

Most sows are repeatedly inseminated, brood after brood, till their bodies give way and they go to slaughter. But while they're still useful, they're made to nurse—strapped to their sides in a farrowing crate, legs apart, nipples exposed. Pigs are extremely smart, sociable creatures, and this forced assembly-line intimacy makes the nursing sows want to die. Which, as soon as they dry up, they do.

Não sou do tipo de repórter que se delicia ao entrar na intimidade das pessoas. Provavelmente é por isso que sou uma jornalista de segunda. Uma delas, pelo menos.

I got secretly furious, spent ten minutes just winding myself up—because at this point of our marriage, I was so used to being angry with her, it felt almost enjoyable, like gnawing on a cuticle: You know you should stop, that it doesn't really feel as good as you think, but you can't quit grinding away.

I have known so many sick women all my life. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions. Men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip. Women get consumed.

I was a callow boy, and then a man, good and bad. Now at last I'm the hero. I am the one to root for in the never-ending war story of our marriage.

Creo que algunas mujeres no están hechas para ser madres, simplemente. Y algunas no están hechas para ser hijas

Although Viveca isn't her bona fide name, her bona fide name is Jennifer, but people don't believe Jennifers can tell the future; Jennifers can tell you which cute shoes to buy or what farmer's market to visit, but they should keep their hands off other people's futures.) Viveca

I had to know I could love a person unconditionally, that I could make a little creature feel constantly welcome and wanted no matter what. That I could be a different kind of father than my dad was.

It's becoming quite a well-known disease. Popular. People love new and creepy. I remember when anorexia hit in the eighties. The more TV movies on it, the more girls starved themselves.

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. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions.