“I’ve been waiting my whole life to fuck up like this.”
“I've always remembered. This fellow said to me - if you think someones'doing you wrong, it's not for you to judge. Kill them first and then God can do the judging.”
“If you couldn't tell the difference between what hurt and what didn't, you had no business being alive. You can't have any good times if you can't tell.”
“If you haven't fought for your life for something you want, you don't know what's life all about.”
“He sat desiring the girl - a speed-hardened straw-colored junkie stewardess, a spoiled Augustana Lutheran, compounded of airport Muzak and beauty parlor school. Her eyes were fouled with smog and propane spray.”
“The desires of the heart...are as crooked as a corkscrew.”
“The richest fuckin' people in the richest country in the world - you gonna tell them some little guy in a hole in South America can have something they can't? Like shit, man. If the little guy in the hole can be a revolutionary, they can be revolutionaries too.”
“Don't be afraid to ask for a rise, Sagittarius. Your boss always pay you less than your work is actually worth!”
“Nau-Cayûti’s eyes gleamed like bared teeth in the gloom.”
“He was a god of rock. He nearly solved all the world's problems with nothing but power chords and anguished cries into a microphone.”
“What up?"
"Most likely not your IQ.”
“was standing facing my car, and behind me, I could hear windows being thrown open in my apartment building. It was Lorraine in her nightie and Mo in his cap. They’d just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap in front of the television. When out in the lot there arose such a clatter, they sprang from their recliners to see what was the matter. Away to the window they flew like a flash, tore open the blinds and threw up the sash. And what to their wondering eyes should appear, but Stephanie Plum and yet another of her cars burning front to rear.”
“I closed my eyes and I thought of the lash of her skirt snapping around her as she danced one evening in a bar on the South Side to a jukebox that was playing “Barefootin’,” of the downy slope of her neck and the declivity in her nightgown as she bent to wash her face in the bathroom sink, of a tuna salad sandwich she’d handed me one windy afternoon as we sat at a picnic table in Lucia, California, and looked out for the passage of whales, and I felt that I loved Emily insofar as I loved those things – beyond reason, and with a longing that made me want to hang my head – but it was a love that felt an awful lot like nostalgia. ”
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