I was stunned to see that he looked stunned himself, which was an exorbitant display of emotion for Barrons.

I’m asking the questions tonight.” One day I was going to write a book: How to Dictate to a Dictator and Evade an Evader, subtitled How to Handle Jericho Barrons.

I'm sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody's does, and you go on. It's how you go on that defines you.

Barrons, Jericho: I haven't the faintest fecking clue. He keeps saving my life. I suppose that's something.

Using your own time to make someone else’s life better is, like, the nicest thing you can do for anybody.

In my experience, anybody besides your mom that feeds you is going to want something in exchange for it.

I was in Cancun, Mexico, sitting in a disappearing-edge swimming pool, on a bar stool that was actually under the water, watching palm trees sway in a sultry breeze against the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea; drinking coconut, lime, and tequila from a scooped-out pineapple, with salt spray of breaking surf and sun kissing my skin. Translation: I'd died and gone to heaven.