But she wished she had had the guts to go up to him and say hello. Or possibly break his legs, she wasn't sure which.

You were difficult enough to catch,” Faste said. Salander gave him a long look, satisfied herself that he was an idiot, and decided that she would not waste too many seconds concerning herself with his existence.

I abhor crime novels in which the main character can behave however he or she pleases, or do things that normal people do not do, without those actions having social consequences.

When this is all over I'm going to found an association called 'The Knights of the Idiotic Table' and its purpose will be to arrange an annual dinner where we tell stories about Lisbeth Salander. You're all members.

History is reticent about women who were common soldiers, who bore arms, belonged to regiments, and took part in battles on the same terms as men, though hardly a war has been waged without women soldiers in the ranks.

We need to have a talk on the subject of what's yours and what's mine.

[Her] greatest fear, which was so huge and so black that it was of phobic proportions, was that people would laugh at her feelings.