Quotes from Susanna Moore

Listen. I can be whatever you want me to be. It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. Just remember that. You want me to be your best friend and fuck you? No problem. You want me to romance you, take you to dinner and shit? No problem.

I pretended not to be too interested in the gun.

Unlike myself, she has the accident of style rather than the intention.

I smiled. Wanting to shove him into the hall with its red-flocked Victorian wallpaper, not able to comfort him, not wanting to comfort him.

It's like trying to remember a dream," I said. "It's in me somewhere." "I wish I were in you somewhere," he said. To my surprise, I was a little disappointed. Too easy, I thought. "Where are you instead?

It has been my experience that when two people talk about sex, sex in the abstract, if there is such a thing, it is a way of fucking before you get into bed, trying it out, seeing if it's going to work.

When are you seeing Pauline?" "Oh, she'll eat me alive. Are you kidding? She's worse than you.

The story made me smile and I wondered if it made me smile because I wanted him to like me.

Her sexual swagger is only the convention of a woman who suspects that there is little hope for happiness with a man, and who hedges her bet by pretending that she is grateful to be alone.

You know," she said dreamily, "I can remember every man I ever fucked by the way he liked to do it. Not the way I liked to do it.

feeling that it was some betrayal of the awful trust I'd inherited from Pauline's promiscuous aunt.

I'm seeing Eugene Onegin." After the letter scene, Tatiana pours a ewer of water over her head. I think you'd like it.

He smiled. 'You think I'm a racist, like all cops.' He didn't seem to mind.

Not a good word, sibling.

Like most people who are anecdotal, he told me nothing. He revealed nothing about himself. He talked a lot, but he only told me what he wanted me to know. Which wasn't much.

He resisted for a moment, laughing, nudging aside my head with his hip, and then with a heavy sigh, as if I were leading him to his doom, he leaned back on the bed, elbows bent, and watched me.

I realized with even more surprise that while it already seemed that I was interested in doing whatever it was this man wanted, I did not want to pick up another girl. I would be too jealous. I didn't want to share him.

Hey, babe," I said. "Love hurts.

Boast disguised as confession. Threat disguised as confession.

I wasn't nearly as good as he was, I knew, but I could at least try to stay in the game.

I'll be here," I said. I shuddered, perhaps from a draft. "I know," he said. And he left.

You know, he said when I opened the door to get out of the car, I can remember almost every murder I ever worked on. I dream about them. It's all in my head. And sometimes something just clicks. Sometimes you got it. It's like with a broad. Sometimes you just know. Know what? I asked. If it's a fit, he said.

He was suddenly uneasy, as if he'd just begun to think about me, the kind of person I might be, the way that I might think.

His scar?" My skirt was heavy with blood, pooled between my thighs, seeping slowly through the cotton. It tickled when it dripped onto my skin, into my pubic hair, over the labia. I was not wearing underwear. You remember. "He never would tell me." "That fucking Malloy." He laughed. "He ruptured his appendix when he was a kid