Quotes from Barry Lyga

There had been studies years ago that showed that when you presented consumers with multifarious choices—like, say, fifteen different types and brands of jelly—they had a harder time deciding, took longer to make up their minds, and were less satisfied with their ultimate selection than those who'd chosen from a narrower band of options. Elayah feared buying the wrong jelly. Only the jelly was her life.

Do you think I was wrong to let that pitch go by?" "Yes. Absolutely." "You're right." "Then why did you---" "Because I didn't know it was wrong until I did it. I had to learn, don't you see? I had to see what would happen when I let my hatred for coach go like that. I had to take control completely, just for once in my life, and see where it led me.

I know it doesn't matter what I've promised because I will not live to have the conversation in the first place. I'm so good at pretending. I'm a liar. I've lied to everyone. To every person in my life, to everyone I know. I've never told the truth. I've lied to them all. [...] Everyone keeps saying that if I could remember, it would help. That's what they've said all along. And the thing is this: I remember doing it. I remember every single bit of it.

I was a child. It was an accident. It wasn't my fault. *Why is there so much red?* Not understanding. But I understand now. I'm told. *Where's Lola????* But I've never told. I was four years old. *WHY IS THERE SO MUCH RED? WHY IS THERE SO MUCH RED?*

Jazz shook his head. "No. The fingers. Your average murderer doesn't mutilate a body like that. And he especially doesn't take trophies. But it's more than that. It's that he left one behind. He left the middle one behind." "Are you serious?" "Yeah. He literally gave the cops the finger. He's saying, 'Come and get me. Catch me if you can.' That's a serial killer." For

I'm beneath notice. As it should be. [...] then I'm gone as if I've never been here. And soon, it will be as though I never were. I am going to join Lola in the memory hole. It is my proper place. It is where I deserve to be consigned. [...] Once she forgets me, maybe then she can remember. And that, more than anything, will count as me doing something productive.

I can't take it anymore. I thought maybe there would be one last conversation, but I can't take it. [...] I've thought of it often, over the years, obsessing over it, designing it in my imagination over and over, tweaking and revising [...]

You think you're gonna find your soul. Ever since I've known you, you've been thinkin' that someday you're gonna crack and end up like your daddy. And you're been looking for proof that you won't. What you don't realize is this: the looking is the proof. Trust me when I tell you that Billy Dent never had a moment's doubt in his life about what he was and what he was doing. Your doubt is your soul

Why couldn't we be one of those families? Why do we have to be us? "I just want something normal," I tell him. "I just want to feel normal." [...] "I can't stop you from killing yourself. If that's what you truly want, no one can stop you. I can't be around twenty-four hours a day, looking after you. But if that's what you want, don't you think you owe it to your mother to talk to her first?

People have been telling me that "time heals all wounds" my entire life. I never really believed them—scabs and scars form, I figured, but I didn't imagine that the wounds themselves ever truly healed. They just lurk beneath the new surface, as raw and as sensitive as the day they were made. They're just not visible any longer. They're just not exposed. I'm still not ready to believe time heals wounds, but I think maybe something else does. We heal wounds. Not time. Us.

And how will I be able to say good-bye to her? I'll have to, of course. Before I take myself out of the equation for good. Because that time is still coming. It has to. That time lives in the future, even as the present hurtles toward it, the two on an inevitable collision course.

I don't know how to quantify the way I am around her, the person I am. When I'm with her, I feel hope. Possibility. It clings to me like a scent. Is this what love feels like? I've never felt it before, and I've never felt this before, so maybe they're the same. I could stay, maybe. For her, yes. I could stay. [...] But it was fun to think about it. Fun to pretend. Fun to have someone who—for a little while—cared as much as I do.

In the cold light of day, what seemed like a moderately ridiculous notion has become... surprisingly... possible.

that night, I don't bother asking the voice if it's time yet. Because for the first time that I can remember, I don't want to know.

If I'm going to do this, I want to do it well. And I want people to acknowledge that. "It's all just a distraction," says the voice one night. It catches me off guard. I'd almost forgotten the voice. Is it speaking the truth? Is this all just a distraction? A pleasant diversion before the gruesome finale, what they call in opera the "Grand Guignol"? Just a distraction. But a good one.

when you see your friend—or someone you think and hope might someday be more—abused, you do what you can to stop it. Who doesn't do that? What kind of person doesn't do that?

I suddenly do want to. I don't know why. I don't understand it. I'm not even sniffing around the edges of understanding it, but suddenly I want more than anything in the world to tell her. [...] I want to tell her because I realize now that it's true: I love her and I need her to know, and if I don't say it now, I'll never say it, and it has to come from me.

You can't treat me any differently. You can't do that." I mean to sound insistent and confident, but pleading has crept into my voice. I'm begging, not demanding. "It's not fair to treat me differently. You were the only person in this town who didn't know. I didn't have to tell you.

now it's like something's been born. Unintentionally, sure, but good, in its own way. But holding me back? Maybe? I don't know anymore. I don't know anything. I want to keep baking pizza. I want to go away. I want to figure out how Aneesa feels about me. I want to end it all. I want. I want. I want. I want too much and I don't know what I want at all. It used to be so easy, so clear.

stealth. At

Rich people can afford anything, even better laughter.

After a little while, she takes my hand. Less than I want. More than I deserve. [...] Why didn't I kiss her? Because I'm going away. Am I? Am I still? I think. I think I need to. I think.

A significant event in your life, and what you would or would not change about it. A significant event in your life. And what you would. Or would not. Change about it." Are you fucking kidding me? How about: not pulled the fucking trigger?

She chuckles. "You're apologizing again! All is right with the world.