He is not bad, I don't think. Perhaps he is simply too lazy to be good.

He is not bad, I don't think. Perhaps he is simply too lazy to be good.

Luck was something you either earned or invented through strength of character. You had to come by it honestly; you could not trick or bluff your way into it.

Where is your mother, Charlie asked. Dead. I’m sorry to hear that Thank you. But she was always dead.

He only wished to fight and cultivate an anger toward me, thus alleviating his guilt, but I would not abet him in this.

Most people are chained to their own fear and stupidity and haven’t the sense to level a cold eye at just what is wrong with their lives. Most people will continue on, dissatisfied but never attempting to understand why, or how they might change things for the better, and they die with nothing in their hearts but dirt and old, thin blood - weak blood, diluted - and their memories aren’t worth a goddamned thing.

Returning his pen to its holder, he told us, 'I will have him gutted with that scythe. I will hang him by his own intestines.' At this piece of dramatic exposition, I could not hep but roll my eyes. A length of intestines would not carry the weight of a child, much less a full grown man.