I don't know if you have noticed this, but it is quite possible for two human beings to have a conversation in which one or both parties involved has absolutely no idea what they're talking about.
Anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them.
No big deal. We all have blood in us, the trick is keeping it inside.
Nothing in life is fair. Fair is a dirty word and I'll thank you not to use that language around me.
I don't do my job to catch the bad guys. Why would I want to do that? No, I do my job to make order out of chaos.
Weren't we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of our neighbor's children?
I did not like this feeling of having feelings.
...she opened the door very slowly and carefully, half hiding behind it, as if badly frightened of what might be waiting for her on the other side. And considering that it was me waiting, this showed rare common sense.
It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.
Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?
I thought about the nice clothes that I always wore. Well of course I did. I took pride in being the best dressed monster in Dade County.
It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did - they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle - they were insensible, like kittens,predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.
It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.
It was such an unexpected and genuine smile that if I only had a soul I'm sure I would have felt quite guilty.
I am unlovable...I have tried to involve myself in other people, in relationships, and even - in my sillier moments - in love. But it doesn't work. Something in me is broken or missing and sooner or later the other person catches me Acting or one of Those Nights comes along.
Life's only obligation, afterall, was to be interesting.
IN MY LIFELONG STUDY OF HUMAN BEINGS, I HAVE FOUND that no matter how hard they might try, they have found no way yet to prevent the arrival of Monday morning. And they do try, of course, but Monday always comes, and all the drones have to scuttle back to their dreary workaday lives of meaningless toil and suffering.
I often find myself in situations where it seems to me like everyone else has read the instruction book
But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.
Now I know what it is like to feel like a total idiot.
Money to me had always been merely something the sheep used to show each other how wonderful they were.
We can't always do what we think we have to do. So when there's nothing else you can do, you wait... No matter what... pressure... you might feel.
Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth - it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.
She really did like me, the idiot.
...being torn apart by far too many loyalties that could not possibly live together in the same brain.
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