That was when you discovered she’d recently begun using PCP – what’s sometimes called ‘angel dust’ on the street.
Hatred and anger are only scars upon a beach, while love is the rolling surf that ceaselessly smooths the sand.
Ross Morrant, the bodyguard, was sprawled in a mess of blood, mayonnaise, mustard, and salami.
She was only twenty-two, and although she had not been gently used, it would be quite a few years before men stopped buying jewelry for her.
Cornell knew that most people thought he was strange, even creepy. He’d been diagnosed with Asperger’s disorder and various forms of autism. Maybe all those diagnoses were correct or maybe none were. His IQ was very high, and he’d made a lot of money while sitting alone in a room, developing apps that had proved enormously popular. When he was rich, no less than when he’d been poor, people thought he was strange, even creepy.
Fear of the unknown is the most purely distilled and potent terror.
Coming even fifty miles to force a probe up my butt without my permission is a pretty good definition of a pervert.
When danger can be sensed but not identified, then everyone and everything becomes a source of concern; the world from horizon to horizon seems hostile.
Even though she knew it wasn’t biologically possible for her heart to rise into her throat, she swallowed it anyway.
The darkness was not an absence of light, but an absence of meaning, for meaning arose only from the exercise of free will.
By all those tells, he wrote his anxiety and his guilt as clearly as if he had composed his confession on a blackboard with a stick of chalk.
No one’ll break your heart faster or into more pieces than a Sherpa will.
All our yesterdays neatly shelved, time cataloged in drawers: News grows brittle and yellow under the library, in catacombs of paper.
We grow, we change, we labor to maturity, to what little wisdom we might ever acquire, but always in the mirror is who we were as well as who we are, a harking back and, yet again, a quiet reckoning.
Oh, there’s nothing worse than those damned, Pope-kissing, potato-sucking Irish.
Instead, he functioned well on four or five hours, with an occasional six. Sleep was rest to him, yes, but it also felt like a taste of death, waking to discover that, for hours, the world had gone on just fine without him, as one day it would go on forever.
I’m a tea-swilling limey, too.
One eye had been torn from its socket.
A few thousand years of weather will eventually reduce a city to its component elements and fields of rubble, though its more restive citizens are likely to get the job done faster.
Miracles were not given, they were earned.