I was lying in bed thinking about killing myself, a hobby of mine. Indulgent afternoon daydreaming: A shotgun, my mouth, a bang and my head jerking once, twice, blood on the wall. Spatter, splatter.
I think she’s sick, and I think what she has is contagious.
Why bother? It’s impossible to compete with the dead.
But you should never put a fifteen-year-old on a witness stand in a courtroom filled with a bunch of people he knows and expect a lot of tears.
Thank you, Gillian Flynn, for quoting The Sure Thing- “Nick’s the kind of guy you can drink a beer with, the kind of guy who doesn’t mind if you puke in his car. Nick!
Amy likes to play God when she’s not happy. Old Testament God.
Richard wanted to take me to all the town’s secret places, the nooks only the locals knew about. Places where people meet to screw or smoke dope, where teens drink, or folks go to sit by themselves and decide where their lives had unraveled. Everyone has a moment where life goes off the rails.
What a pure way to die.
I spent a lot of time before I actually wrote my first book going, “How do you write a book?” The answer is, you just write.
The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you, my mother used to say whenever I resisted her grooming.
He’s as smooth and shallow as glass.
Shotgun blasts in a small hallway. The panicked, jaybird cries of my mother, still trying to save her kids with half her head gone.
I simply assumed I would bundle up my New York wife with her New York interests, her New York pride, and remove her from her New York parents – leave the frantic, thrilling futureland of Manhattan behind – and transplant her to a little town on the river in Missouri, and all would be fine.
What are you doing here?” asked the prettiest. Her flushed face had the roundness of a girl barely in her teens and her hair was parted in ribbons, but her breasts, which she aimed proudly outward, were those of a grown woman. A lucky grown woman.
My demons aren’t remotely tackled, they’re just mildly concussed.
I jammed a floppy blue teddy bear under my head, then felt guilty and returned him to the foot of the bed. One should have allegiance to one’s childhood things.
People who get caught get caught because they don’t have patience; they refuse to plan.
We are all working from the same dog-eared script.
She simply makes things a reality by assuming they are such.
Looking at my smarmy grin, my hooded eyes, I thought, I would hate this guy.
My mother breezed in, smelling like bright blue water. She looked more comfortable in the Nash house than Mrs. Nash did. It was a natural gift for Adora, making other women feel incidental.