The true writer, the born writer, will scribble words on scraps of litter, the back of a bus tickets, on the wall of a cell.

I want my best friend back, she thinks, because without him nothing is good and nothing is right.

Be nice wont you?" "I am nice, I'm always nice." "But not too nice. I mean don't make a religion out of it, niceness.

She wondered if she was doomed to be one of those people who spend their lives trying things.

We're not ourselves, are we? I'm certainly not myself, not anymore. And you're not either. You don't seem yourself. Not as I remember you.

The problem with all these fiercely individualistic girls was that they were all exactly the same.

...and once again Dexter is struck by how easy conversation can be when no-one is in their right mind