Rebecca McNutt · 733 pages
Rating: (11 votes)
“You’re not exactly up for the Humanitarian of the Year award, so save your altruism for someone who can't see through you like cellophane.”
“You have more issues than Reader's Digest.”
“One of the many downsides to being a drug addict is never really knowing if the stuff is real.”
“Alecto, do you think we have fallen from heaven, or do you think we are falling towards it?”
“Most people are as happy as other people decide they should be.”
“There are some things in the past that… that just aren’t meant to be viewed.”
“I don’t want any other friends! They’d never be as good a friend as you are.”
“Dreams are just lies that we tell ourselves while we're asleep.”
“I don’t like psychiatrists,” Alecto told her. “Not because they don’t think I’m real, but because they have no idea what they’re doing.”
“Some people spend their whole lives in a fantasy world, and that’s not a good thing!”
“What’s supposed to be and what is, are two very different things.”
“And what if you could go back in time and take all those hours of sorrow and insanity and replace them with something better?”
“Pollution were the rainbow-coloured oil slicks that spread upon the ocean's salty surface, the curling tendrils of smoke spiralling upwards into gray skies, the funeral pyres of rainforests, the sting of acid in the spring rain. Nonetheless, there was something about them that seemed so innocent and kind and friendly, despite the sites they guarded. Mandy often wondered why that was. Pollution looked like living weapons, with their sharp fingernails, powerful abilities and canine-like teeth, yet they had the most beautiful eyes and polite personalities.”
“Maybe a holiday miracle will change Mearth’s awful behavior,” Mandy suggested with optimism.
“The only holiday miracle around here is that Mearth hasn’t murdered us both yet,” said Alecto, lighting another cigarette, his hands shaking erratically. He looked exhausted and terrified, his gray eyes soulless.
“Do you know what Mearth likes, Alecto?” Mandy questioned.
“Vegetables, she likes celery a lot, and lettuce,” Alecto responded in a quiet monotone. “I don’t know what else she likes. I’ve never asked her.”
“Well, she has to like something… doesn’t everyone?”
“Not her, Mandy Valems.”
“Alecto… what do you think would happen if people found out about you? Your abilities, your life, Mearth’s super 8 films, those powers of yours… how would they react?”
“I don’t know,” said Alecto, “but ordinary people like a show, especially when it’s a disturbing one. They enjoy seeing misery… probably because it allows them to pretend that they themselves are not so miserable, too. Also, they would probably find out about you, how you know about Personifications, how you saw the films… they would put us in cages and throw peanuts at us, I guess.”
“All joking aside, Alecto.…”
“Who is joking, Mandy Valems?”
“She dug into one of the boxes, finding clay angels she’d made in art class when she was seven years old. She found plastic swans on strings and red crystal cardinals. She found a blue-and-white rocking horse covered in glitter. She found a porcelain Santa Claus. She found that she couldn’t figure out where the hell time had gone.”
“If you try to help me in any way, you’ll annoy her, and you’ll not only interfere with her murder timeline… you’ll put yourself IN it.”
“Canada is a free country, after all.”
“Krishna’s son, Samba, is portrayed in the scriptures as an irresponsible lout, perhaps to inform us that the child of a great man need not be a great man; greatness is not transmitted through the generations. Every man ultimately makes or destroys his own legacy.”
“We’re apes. We think we’re all sophisticated with our toaster ovens and designer footwear, but we’re just a bunch of finely ornamented apes.”
“Shirley's gonna be pissed," Gazarra said. "She hates when I get shot." To my recollection, the only other time Gazarra was shot was when he was playing quick draw in the police station elevator and his gun accidentally discharged. The bullet ricocheted off the elevator wall and lodged in Gazarra's right buttock.”
“Half a thou too small,” he said. “The difference between Right and Wrong. Half a thou bigger, and it’ld be Right. As it is, it’s Wrong, and you can’t cheat about it.” He smiled again. “Too bad when God gives you the mind of an Inspector, isn’t it?”
“I am surrounded by people who trust me to be a respectful stranger. Am I trustworthy? Are any of us trustworthy? I hope so.”
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