There aren't any magical words, really. Words just hold the magic.

Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don't feel it.

I'm dealing with a lot of scary things. I think you have to react to them. And you either laugh at them or you go insane.

Here had lived someone else who knew that the only thing waiting at home was a sense of loneliness. Sometimes it is comforting. Most often, it isn't.

He wasn't evil as much as magnificently innocent of any kind of morality.

Kincaid, evidently exhausted himself, drew a gun, took the safety off, placed it on his chest, and went to sleep too. "It's cute," I whispered to Murphy. "He has a teddy Glock.

On the whole, we're a murderous race. According to Genesis, it took as few as four people to make the planet too crowded to stand, and the first murder was a fratricide. Genesis says that in a fit of jealous rage, the very first child born to mortal parents, Cain, snapped and popped the first metaphorical cap in another human being. The attack was a bloody, brutal, violent, reprehensible killing. Cain's brother Abel probably never saw it coming. As I opened the door to my apartment, I was filled with a sense of empathic sympathy and intuitive understanding. For freaking Cain.