Stieg Larsson · 576 pages
Rating: (40.6K votes)
“She wondered why she, who had such difficulty talking about herself with people of flesh and blood, could blithely reveal her most intimate secrets to a bunch of completely unknown freaks on the Internet.”
“Salander was dressed for the day in a black T-shirt with a picture on it of E.T. with fangs, and the words I AM ALSO AN ALIEN. She had on a black skirt that was frayed at the hem, a worn-out black, mid-length leather jacket, rivet belt, heavy Doc Marten boots, and horizontally striped, green-and-red knee socks. She had put on make-up in a colour scheme that indicated she might be colourblind. In other words, she was exceptionally decked out.”
“I've never had a boy in here," Martin said in a serious voice. "I've never touched another man, as a matter of fact. . . .except for my father. That was my duty.”
“Fantaseó con una cerilla y un bidón de gasolina.”
“Fue así como ocurrió. Lo que antes parecía puro azar adquirió de repente una dimensión diferente.”
“You’ve learned the lesson,' Kellhus had said on one of those rare mornings when he shared her breakfast.
'What lesson might that be?'
'That the lessons never end.' He laughed, gingerly sipped his steaming tea. 'That ignorance is infinite.”
“Look, I don't know what you are, but you're more than a geologist, if you are one at all. I've met lots of geologists on different projects like this, and they're all tiny sunburned men with fetishes for geodes. They wear floppy hats and carry baggies for soil samples around with them. ... And geologists don't make rocks disappear like you did the other night. They keep them and build little shrines to them.”
“We can’t be friends. I can’t be friends with you, because I love you, and you’ve hurt me.”
“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.”
“[His coat] emitted an odor of bus station so desolate that just standing next to him you could feel your luck changing for the worse.”
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