It gives me some kind of chance to survive the night." "How are those better odds? If you come back with me, you're guaranteed to survive the night." "No," Reacher said. "If I come back with you, I'm guaranteed to die of shame.

He picked up the wrench and broke the guy’s wrist with it, one, and then the other wrist, two, and turned back and did the same to the guy who had held the hammer, three, four. The two men were somebody’s weapons, consciously deployed, and no soldier left an enemy’s abandoned ordnance on the field in working order. The doctor’s wife was watching from the cabin door, all kinds of terror in her face. "What?" Reacher asked her.

A calm environment is for after I finish work.

Reacher said, "So here's the thing Brett. Either you take your hand off my chest, or I'll take it off your wrist.

Most actors are small, anyway - at least compared to me.

The most sustained feat of imagination in mystery fiction today.

It's a kind of zen question: if you write a book and no one reads it, is it really a book?