People, Reacher was certain about. Dogs were different. People had freedom of choice. If a man or a woman ran snarling toward him, they did so because they chose to. They were asking for whatever they got. His response was their problem. But dogs were different. No free will. Easily misled. It raised an ethical problem. Shooting a dog because it had been induced to do something unwise was not the sort of thing Reacher wanted to do.

Writing is showbusiness for shy people. That's how I see it.

I have to warn you. I promised my mother, a long time ago. She said I had to give folks a chance to walk away.

I don't know what the secret is when I am writing it - it really is a surprise to me.

The way to write a thriller is to ask a question at the beginning, and answer it at the end.

A handgun at two hundred feet is the same thing as crossing your fingers and making a wish.

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.