He never lied to me. I just didn't ask the questions I didn't want to know the answers to.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

Peter is ... adjusting. He's back in school, and he's doing quite well. I wish you could find it in your heart to forgive him." "I've got this funny resentful streak about people who try to kill me.

We were locked onto each other as though we had just discovered this incredible thing you could do with two mouths pressing close and moist against each other. And the taste of him... Horrifyingly, unbearably sweet -- sweet in the way crack must feel hitting the bloodstream of an addict after years of staying clean.

Knowing and believing are two different things.

I think it was Mark Twain who said, “Get your facts straight, and then you can distort them as much as you like.

Not as intolerable as being dead, in my opinion, but I'm very fond of me. I would miss me a lot.