…my life has been a remarkable one. Maybe one day someone will write a book about me . . .” "I’ve never much cared for horror stories.

We have an hour before we have to leave," Cray said. "So I thought I might tell you a little about myself. I thought it might pass the time." "I'm not really all that interested," Alex said.

Alex decided he’d had enough. He put down his knife. “All right,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to work with me. Well, that’s fine. Because I don’t want to work with you either. And for what it’s worth, nobody would ever believe you were my mom because no mom would ever behave like you.” “Alex…,” Carver began. “Forget it! I’m going back to London. And if you’re Mr. Byrne asks why, you can tell him I didn’t like the jelly, so I went home to get some jam.

Look at self-satisfied pop singers or greasy, semi-literate athletes. People worship them. Why?” "Because they’re talented.

We live in a world with so many dangers that we have to be careful whom we trust.

But then, he thought, most politicians are small and shabby, the sort of people who have been bullied at school. That's why they become politicians.

Smiling back at her, it occurs to me that I've never met a mean librarian.