Quotes from James Patterson

ground, impaled on the trunk of a tree that has been shaved down to the point of

Remember, Michael Sean, she'd always say, it's never the job you do but how hard you do it.

No one had figured out any of the other murders he'd done, had they? They got John Wayne Gacy, Jr., after over thirty murders in Chitown. Jeffrey Dahmer went down after seventeen in Milwaukee. Gary had murdered more than both of them put together. But no one knew who he was, or where he was, or what he planned to do next.

Beck with a determined look in my eye.

Are you a contractor?" "No, I'm legit." He made me laugh, even at such an old joke. "Actually, I'm an architect. That's just a general contractor who doesn't have enough ambition to make any money.

My father left when I was four and Georgia was two. That was about a year after Leo died. Once he was gone, we never heard from him again. End of story.

Enough explosives to pose a legitimate threat to multiple small countries"—I eyed the duffel bags that Gazzy and Iggy had packed—"check.

Excerpt from Alert copyright © James Patterson, 2015

Even wolves have moments of kindness.

Nordic Classicism.

Birds coming home to roost.

So what you have to ask yourself is: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?" That's

The perfect killer, I believe, understands clearly that life is meaningless, absurd, without absolute value. As long as the criminal operates from this perspective, he can't be tripped up by his own mind, and he can't be caught.

The only thing that matters in this game is the score, something hackers never quite understand, even when they think they do. If you can't make a shot eighty percent of the time and there's a penalty if you don't, you shouldn't try it. Ever. No matter where you are.

Oh, hello, Mr. and Mrs. Buttington. Fanny has told me so much about you.

Jersey City. On weekends

windowsill on the opposite side of the dining room. "What are you doing?

Hey, I might've blown two classes. But you know what they say: The third time's the charm!

I couldn't stop the overwhelming sadness I felt. It ate at me, like acid splashed all over my body.

critique, and it's an art school thing, where you have to put your assignment up in front of the whole class so everyone can talk about it. Kind of like getting up in front of a firing squad.

Walking up to the screened porch, however, I felt as strange and disconnected as I had ever been in my entire life. It was as if I were two people: a man who was a capable detective, a loving husband, and a devoted father who was heading toward a quiet little house in the South, and an unsure and fearful boy of eight trudging toward a home that might be filled with music, love, and joy or, just as easily, screaming, turmoil, and madness.

the rookie at the barricade at around forty. There

Being a police officer isn't restricted to saving someone from physical injuries. Sometimes it's about sitting down with people who desperately need to talk—and need someone to really listen

I want to try. Isn't that what matters—that I want to try?