Quotes from Jeff Lindsay

And so as much as I can, I care about her, dear Deborah. It's probably not love, but I would rather she were happy.

I sighed; as comforting as it may be to some of us, sarcasm, like youth, is wasted on the young.

Killing makes me feel good.

She really did like me, the idiot.

being torn apart by far too many loyalties that could not possibly live together in the same brain.

It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did - they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle - they were insensible, like kittens,predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.

Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would be a much better place without someone in it who could do that, but did that mean we had to miss lunch?

It revealed a cruelty that really made one wonder if the universe was such a good idea after all.

I don't do my job to catch the bad guys. Why would I want to do that? No, I do my job to make order out of chaos.

Now I know what it is like to feel like a total idiot.

What, in all very seriousness, the hell was going on?

Stop the nurse like the monkey.

What do you want a clock for?" "To find out what time it is," I said. "I think that's the usual purpose.

She looked up and ran her eyes over me, slowly, while I stood and wondered why. Had she forgotten what I looked like? But she finished with a big smile. She really did like me, the idiot.

I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can't believe he did those horrible things . . .

Dogs were always a problem. They don't like me and they quite often disapprove of what I do to their masters, especially since I don't share the good pieces.

This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.

I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.

I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.

I poked at the white paper bag. There was nothing left inside. Just like me: a clean crisp outside and nothing at all on the inside.

It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.

How bad could things be if my hair was neat?

Gimme the fucking creeps," Doakes grumbled. I began to appreciate the man's finer qualities. Of course I gave him the fucking creeps. The only real question was why he was the only one in a room filled with cops who had the insight to get the fucking creeps from my presence.

A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.