“ La perfección es algo superficial. Epidérmico. Si uno rasca un poco, comienza a ver tonalidades más oscuras. Al llegar al hueso la oscuridad es total. Blake Crouch
“ Is déjà vu actually the specter of false timelines that never happened but did, casting their shadows upon reality? Blake Crouch
“ Perfection all the time would drive them mad. For every perfect little town, there's something ugly underneath. No dream without the nightmare. Blake Crouch
“ I stare down into her eyes, smoky and glistening in the light stealing through the window. Eyes you can fall into and keep falling.She isn't the mother of my son, she isn't my wife, we haven't made a… Blake Crouch
“ When you were a child, I didn't tell you about the evil in the world, all that lay in wait. Blake Crouch
“ The first handkerchief was tied to a second, yellow handkerchief. He fed both through the window and kept pulling. Attached to it was a red one. Then a green one. Go away, you goddamn clown! Jenny ord… Blake Crouch
“ I pass a construction site, abandoned for the night, and a few blocks later, the playground of the elementary school my son attended, the metal sliding board gleaming under a streetlamp and the swings… Blake Crouch
“ Long legs and longer arms, each tipped with a row of black talons. Sinewy. Wiry. And above all, humanoid, its skin in the sunlight as translucent as a baby mouse’s—mapped with a network of blue veins… Blake Crouch
“ He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past. —GEORGE ORWELL, 1984 Blake Crouch
“ It's a troubling paradox - I have total control, but only to the extent I have control over myself. Blake Crouch
“ I cannot separate the man you are now from the boy you were then, and it's killing me. I wanted everything for you, son.I still do. Blake Crouch
“ He curled up, twitching and spasming, the pain stormtrooping through his entire body in agonizing, dizzying, pounding waves. He vomited, but it wasn’t the contents of his stomach. It his stomach, han… Blake Crouch
“ He thinks perhaps there’s a reason our memories are kept hazy and out of focus. Maybe their abstraction serves as an anesthetic, a buffer protecting us from the agony of time and all that it steals an… Blake Crouch
