It’s strange when you think about it. There are hundreds and hundreds of murders in books and television. It would be hard for narrative fiction to survive without them. And yet there are almost none in real life, unless you happen to live in the wrong area. Why is it that we have such a need for murder mystery? And what is it that attracts us? The crime, or the solution? Do we have some primal need of bloodshed because our own lives are so safe, so comfortable?
The most obvious conclusions are the ones I try to avoid.
It was the garden of a man who wanted to rule the world but couldn’t, and so had cut the world down to his own size.
Rumours and malicious gossip are like bindweed. They cannot be cut back, even with the sword of truth. I can, however, offer you this comfort. Given time, they will wither and die of their own volition.
I held out the packet and suddenly we were friends. That’s one of the only good things about being a smoker these days. You’re part of a persecuted minority. You bond easily.
You must control your emotions. You must control your feelings. If there is any fear or insecurity, you must destroy it before it destroys you. It is not the size or the strength of your opponent that matters. These can be measured. It is what cannot be measured... courage, determination... that count.
He used language as a place for us to hide.
It was quite elementary,′ returned the detective with a languid gesture of one hand.
There are some relationships that succeed only because they are impossible, that actually need unhappiness to continue.
There are, I think, occasions when you know that you have arrived at the end of a long journey, when, even though your destination is still concealed from sight, you are somehow aware that when you turn the corner that lies just ahead of you, there it will be.
But the thing is, you see -and to be honest, I don’t like to mention this- I’m a bit short. There just aren’t enough people getting murdered.
One car behind him. Two more ahead. The plane was now in.
Alex listened as the two men argued, neither really listening to what the other had to say. So this was how the government worked!
One can think of the truth as eine vertiefung – a sort of deep valley which may not be visible from a distance but which will come upon you quite suddenly. There are many ways to arrive there.
We’re all on the road to ruin but some are further ahead than others.
You look at me as if I were a conjuror,′ Holmes remarked, with a laugh.
Again, I found myself wondering what it must be like to work there, sitting in a room with those miniature urns, a constant reminder that everything you were and everything you’d achieved would one day fit inside.
Alex watched her leave. So it was true what Yassen had said. Her last question had proved it. He knew who he was. The son of a contract killer.
You think ghosts and witches and vampires and ghosts and two-headed monsters are bad. Why? Do you know what that is, David? It’s prejudice. Racial prejudice!
TOYS AREN’T US.