You know what they call a guy who switches sides in homicide? They call him a Jane Fonda, as in hanging with the North Vietnamese. You get it? It’s crossing to the dark side.
You build a city in the desert, water it with false hopes and false idols, and eventually this is what happens. The desert reclaims it, turns it arid, leaves it barren. Human tumbleweeds drift across...
When you walked the dog, did you see anything unusual on the street? Ballard asked the old woman. Anybody out of place? No, nothing unusual, Lantana said. Is there any construction on the street? Work...
What’s your point, Legal? The point is that there are plenty of people out there judging us every day of our lives and for every move we make. The gods of guilt are many. You don’t need to add to them...
Whatever made her happy made me happy—except the time she thought divorcing me would make her life happier. That didn’t do much for me.
We want the truth, Detective. You are confusing that with what we choose to tell the public.
Un juicio es un concurso de mentiras. Y en la sala todo el mundo lo sabe.
To think about failure was to invite failure.
There was more silence and Bosch pictured his partner on the other end of the line in a $900 suit and a bankrupt frown.
There was an engine approaching. Sounded like a truck to the boy. And now he thought he could hear the crunching of tires on the gravel access road that skirted the reservoir.
The rich kept you waiting so you could feel free to admire all that they had.
The question of how you can hope and expect someone to forgive you when deep down you don’t forgive yourself.
The gray had not yet chased all of the brown out of his hair but it was getting close to victory.
The coroner herself, Jayalalithaa Panneerselvam, was on scene.
The art of sports writing always amazed me. Nine out of ten times the reader already knows the outcome of your story before reading it. They know who won, they probably even watched the game. But they...
Swag? Scientific wild ass guess.
Success makes a lot of bad shit go away. So
Sometimes hot sauce was the only way I knew I was still alive.
She had said she was strong but he knew that comfort and strength could come from sadness. That was what she had.
Now the paper looked like somebody who had been through chemo—thin, unsteady, and knowing the inevitable could only be held off for so long.