Quotes from Jeff Lindsay

No blood at all. I could hear that phrase repeat itself in my head, louder each time. No sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. No splatter. NO BLOOD AT ALL. Why hadn't I thought of that?

She had searched for just the right guy; sensitive and gentle and willing to wait. Quite a long search, of course. She was looking for some imaginary man who cared more about having someone to talk to and see movies with than he needed to have sex, because she was just Not Ready for That. Did I say imaginary? Well yes. Human men are not like that.

Every contact leaves a trace.Everyhting and everyone we touch is changed in some way.But the changes,they are never what we anticipate.

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

It really is better to be lucky than to be good.

When faced with people who have very limited conversational skills and no apparent desire to cultivate any it's always easier to simply go along.

Oh, I wanted this killer stopped, brought to justice, yes, certainly - but did it have to be so soon?

Or was he saying, Hi! Wanna play? And I did. Of course I did.

I took pride in being the best dressed monster in Dade County.

Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth - it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.

First things first has always been my motto, mostly because it makes absolutely no sense - after all, if first things were second or third, they wouldn't be first things, would they? Still, cliches exist to comfort the feeble minded, not to provide any actual meaning.

In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had been created to do. And I did.

Oh, the symphonic shriek of a thousand hiding voices, the cry of the need inside, the entity, the silent watcher, the cold quiet thing, the one that laughs, the moondancer. The me that was not me, the thing that mocked and laughed and calling with its hunger.

What a terrible thing life can be.

Hurray—I was someone else. I was not completely crazy yet. Seriously antisocial, of course, and somewhat sporadically homicidal, nothing wrong with that. But not crazy.

The whole point of wearing a disguise was to be seen wearing her.

a cheerful black shadow reared up behind him as he spoke, thundering a happy challenge to my Dark Passenger, which slid forward and bellowed back.

And so Deb is the only person in the world who gives a rusty possum fart whether I live or die.

Something it's reassuring to know I'm not the only one pretending to be normal.

Every major city has a section like this one. If a piebald dwarf with advanced leprosy wants to have sex with a kangaroo and a teenage choir, he'll find his way here and get a room. When he's done he might take the whole gang next door for a cup of Cuban coffee and a medianoche sandwich. Nobody would care, as long as he tipped.

Still, it's always nice to be around somebody who thinks I am wonderful. It confirms my low opinion of people.

The mission sat in a converted store front on the corner of a medium-busy street. There was a small crowd gathered in front - no real surprise, since they gave out food and clothing, all all you had to do was spend a few moments of your life listening to the good reverend explain why you were going to Hell. It seemed like a pretty good bargain, even to me, but I wasn't hungry.

the faster it ran away from me. And I found myself reasoning that perhaps one more beer would unlock the doors of perception

Rather than see me or have me touch it again, it died.