It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.

I often find myself in situations where it seems to me like everyone else has read the instruction book

Nothing in life is fair. Fair is a dirty word and I'll thank you not to use that language around me.

Rectory always sounded to me like a place where you would find a proctologist.

I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.

For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.

It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.