"So basically, that entire theory is blown to hell."Not basically," Win corrected. "Entirely."

The ugliest truth, in the end, was still better than the prettiest of lies.

I don't find any real rivalries with crime and thriller writers anyway. That might sound a little Pollyanna, but for the most part the writers I compete with, if you want to use that word, it's a pretty friendly rivalry. I think we all realise that the boat rises and sinks together.

That's what a good crime novelist - any good novelist - should do with you: play with your perceptions while showing you everything in plain sight.

A dancer on break approached him. She smiled. Each tooth was angled in a different direction, as if her mouth were the masterwork of a mad orthodontist. "Hi," she said. "Hi." "You're really cute." "I don't have any money." She spun and walked away. Ah, romance.

William Goldman's Marathon Man was a novel that taught me about suspense. I was maybe 16 years old when I read it and I remember thinking, "You could put a gun to my head and I wouldn't put this book down." I loved that feeling - and want to give it others.

There are few times that I feel more at peace, more in tune, more Zen, if you will, than when I force myself to unplug.