Quotes from Dennis Lehane

Each day in this country, twenty-three hundred children are reported missing.

A complaint that's not looking for a solution is a disease that's not looking for a cure.

There is no street with mute stones and no house without echoes. —Góngora

We all believe lies that bring us more comfort than the truth.

I love my burdens.

She had straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders, a rock the size of a Prius on her left ring finger, and she might have been pretty if the skin weren't stretched so tight against her face it gave her the unfortunate look of someone who'd been struck by lightning during an orgasm.

L.A. burns, and so many other cities smolder, waiting for the hose that will flood gasoline over the coals, and we listen to politicians who fuel our hate and our narrow views and tell us it's simply a matter of getting back to basics while they sit in their beachfront properties and listen to the surf so they won't have to hear the screams of the drowning.

and it blew open a chamber of her heart that refuses to close no matter how hard she presses down on it.

He was just getting started. He was ready to bust wide open. He could feel it. Big things. Big things were coming. From him. From everywhere. That was the feeling he got lately, as if the whole world had been held in a stable, him included. But soon, soon it was going to bust out all over the place.

Es la tensión —le expliqué—. La espera. —¿Qué quieres decir? —A veces parece peor que la simple confrontación. Te parece que si pudieras hacer algo dejarías de sentirte como si trataras de desprenderte de tu propia piel. Asintió.

Bob, who had never been late in his life, suspected there was something hostile at the core of people who always were.

He felt sorry for Dave. No matter what he may have done, Dave just elicited that in a person - pity, unrefined and a little bit ugly, sharp as shale.

only people who ask questions like 'Did he want to be something besides a bartender?' are people who can become whatever they want. The rest of us are just Americans.

Call them gooks, call them niggers, call them kikes, micks, spics, wops, or frogs, call them whatever you want as long as you call them something—anything—that removes one layer of human being from their bodies when you think of them. That's the goal. If you can do that, you can get kids to cross oceans to kill other kids, or you can get them to stay right here at home and do the same thing.

Montooth squared himself, his eyes suddenly clear. "You heard the earth's mostly water, right?" Joe nodded. "And people think God lives up in the sky, but that don't never make much sense to me because the sky is way, way up there, not part of us, you know?" "But the ocean?" Joe said. "That's the skin of the world. And I think God lives in the drops. Moves through a wave like the foam itself. I look

For a moment-maybe even a succession of moments and none sharp enough to point to as the cause-he'd been happy.

the other side of his desk. "Yeah, well, like I always say, miss, you could

I can't think of one reason big enough for them to lie and small enough for it not to matter.

Dio ama la violenza. Tu capisci, non è così? Altrimenti perché ce ne sarebbe così tanta? La violenza è dentro di noi. Sgorga da noi. È la cosa che ci viene più naturale, prima ancora di respirare. Noi scateniamo guerre. Pratichiamo sacrifici. Saccheggiamo e straziamo le carni dei nostri fratelli. Riempiamo campi immensi di morti, della loro puzza. E perché? Per mostrare a Lui che abbiamo imparato dal Suo esempio.

Yeah, well, it's not like the old days." I bit into my lobster roll. Maybe the best lobster roll in Boston, which made it, arguably, the best lobster roll in the world. "It's

Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves.

La cálida mano de Angie se cerraba en torno a la mía mientras dábamos media vuelta y, esquivando los escombros, seguíamos el camino de la brisa en dirección a nuestra parte de la ciudad.

How naive can you be before it becomes unforgivable?

Por supuesto. —Echó un trago—. El mundo es violento, Patrick. La gente disfruta matando. Porque… —Les da poder —dijo Oscar. —Exactamente —reconoció Devin—. Tiene que haber algo en ello que te hace sentir la hostia de bien. Todo ese poder… —Se encogió de hombros—. Pero ¿para qué te explicamos esto si tú ya lo sabes?