I haven't had a very good day. I think I might still be hung over and everyone's dead and my root beer's gone.

It makes you a different person, to not have a past. It eats away at who you are, until what’s left is all construct, all artifice.

It’s hard to come up with a scheme to thwart some other scheme you don’t even know about.

She put a hit on her boyfriend, so it's not like she hasn't murdered someone." "And you know that how?" Sam asks. I'm trying really hard to be honest, but telling the whole thing to Sam seems beyond me. Still, the fragments sound ridiculous on their own. "She said so. In the park." He rolls his eyes. "Because the two of you were so friendly." "I guess she mistook me for someone else." I sound so much like Philip that it scares me. I can hear the menace in my tone. "Who?" Sam asks, not flinching. I force my voice back to normal. "Uh, the person who killed him.

It's not that I don't know that it's a bad idea. It's that, lately, bad ideas have a particular hold over me.

You're like this leopard who's pretending to be a house cat.

Marks forget that whenever something's too good to be true, that's because it's a con.