Quotes from Jeff Lindsay

But out of the many ironies in my current unhappy contretemps, perhaps the worst of all is that I, Dexter the Monster, Dexter the Ultimate Outsider, Dexter the Nonhuman—I, too, am reduced in extremis to that ultimate human lament: Why Me?

The days pass indistinguishably. Dull routine plods along in the wake of dull routine. Nothing, in short, Happens that has not already happened yesterday and the day before, and will almost certainly happen again the next day, and the next, and the next, ad infinitum. No

Don't you want to go for tacos?" Vince called as I hit the door. "Go jump up your ass," I said. After all, if there really was a prize for saying "ass," I deserved a shot at it.

ninety-nine percent of all human life is spent simply repeating the same old actions, speaking the same tired clichés, moving like a zombie through the same steps of the dance we plodded through yesterday and the day before and the day before.

And yet, I hope. This cannot continue eternally, can it? Something must someday happen. It is not possible that I should be a permanent fixture here, on the ninth floor of TGK, perpetually repeating the same small and meaningless rituals by rote. Someone

while everyone in all the cars behind you swelters in the July sun that no air-conditioning can ever overcome

Or perhaps Anderson himself, overcome with shame, will perform a public mea culpa and set me free in person. Of

When the pressure builds too high, even volcanoes boil over, and they are made of stone.

accelerated, turning slightly away

And once again, I realized that it spoke the truth. I was hungry. Very hungry, in fact. I am blessed with a total lack of conscience, but my keen sense of hunger takes its place quite ably and keeps my feet on the proper trail. And with a jolt of guilt that very nearly approached panic, I realized I'd had no dinner. What had I been thinking? There was no excuse for such rash and careless behavior. Shame on Dexter.

I like to think I am more resourceful than most. But at the moment, I might as well have been bound and gagged and tied to the railroad tracks.

But I had been commanded to tow him through the stormy waters of my life in forensics, and so tow I must. And

I think I need to see a lawyer," I tell him. He shakes his head sadly. "I retire in a year and a half," he says. And with this apparent non sequitur our conversation is over and I am buttoned securely into my cell once more.

He nodded. "I asked around about you," he said. "They all told me, 'Dexter does doughnuts.' Ã¢â'¬Â And he grinned at me as if alliteration was some kind of wonderfully clever form of wit.

Why Jackie?" Robert said. I was glad to see he had already moved on to his next neurotic worry. "Why does she get on camera? I mean, I can laugh harder than she can any day.

I heard the front door open and Rita hustled into the house, home from dropping the children at school. She went through the living room and into the kitchen making all the loud and distinct sounds of someone trying to be quiet.

If I had been irritated by him before, now I was positively seething. He had gone beyond mere mockery; now he was "asking around" about me, prying into my character, encouraging everyone around me to unload about all of Dexter's quirks and peccadilloes. It made me so angry that I could calm myself only by picturing Robert duct-taped to a table, with me standing happily above him clutching a fillet knife. Still, I ate his doughnuts.

Of all the odd thoughts I could have, that might seem the oddest, but there it was. Dexter was in a dither over doing what he does best, merely because it would be a rush job. Was my new life of luxury rotting away the hard and happy core of the monster that is me? Turning me into an old maid incapable of the simplest and most well-justified endings? Was I really so straitlaced?

I watched it go, and as its taillights disappeared around the corner I suddenly remembered how to breathe. I took advantage of this rediscovered knowledge, and it felt very good.

Show that good old team spirit. Wave the flag, give 'em hell, and all that.

It's, um, you know," I said, feeling exceptionally awkward. "There's something unique about every murder, so you try to see what would make somebody do that.

Get your stuff," he said, hurrying past. "We got a wild one." Robert turned to watch him go, and his air of relaxed confidence seemed to drain out and puddle at his feet. "Is that Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Does he mean, um—" "It's probably nothing," I said. "Just a routine machete beheading or something." Chase goggled at me for a moment. Then he turned pale, gulped, and finally nodded. "Okay," he said.

Midday and moonless, idling along among the families from Ohio and retired couples from Iowa and the businessmen from Brazil, instead of lurking in the shade of a night meant for mischief, and it all seems so improper, as if we have wandered into a church and found everyone naked.

Give me liberty or give me death," I told him. "Death is much easier to arrange, I'm afraid," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe," I said. "But I have to do what I can.