Are you asking because you want to see if doc can turn you into a librarian when all this is over? [p.240:]
What's that old Sunday school warning about how if you fight dragons too long, you can become one? That's been spinning around in my head for years, long enough that I know I'd rather be a dragon than...
There's something magical about the sound of breaking glass. Especially around a mob. It works both for humans and Hellions. If you want to start a riot, throw a bottle.
The Magistrate says something to him and stands at the edge of the flatbed, a preacher addressing his flock. Charlie Manson laying out the plans for Helter Skelter.
The Bad Dad thing usually works. Hellions are big on pecking orders and I have to remind them regularly who’s at the top. Now they need a pat on the head from Good Dad before things go all Hansel and...
Maybe home isn’t the place you love, just the place you know best.
Kasabian is still shrieking like a banshee, which is pretty good for a guy with no lungs.
If Mason wasn’t crazy before, he’s definitely joined the banana army now.
I pull the cork and pour a glass full. Give it a sniff. There it is. The heady bouquet of gasoline and hot pepper. I sip it and shudder a little. It burns just right going down.
I played minigolf once, but the windmill scared me. I try to avoid excitement these days.
I once considered learning to love iced coffee, but then I remembered I’d have to kill myself, so I gave up the idea.
I hurt like I just climbed out of a cement mixer, and the shot that grazed my side burns like hell. But I don’t have time to whine right now.
I don't want to run for anything. I want to shove this miserable cheap-ass check so far up Wells's ass he can read the routing number out the back of his eyes.
I actually feel kind of bad for the little curs. It’s not their fault they’re a cannibal florist shop.
How long has it been since I’ve seen sunlight? Down in the asshole of creation, it was a dim, perpetual crimson-and-magenta twilight.
Her wild hair hangs down like dead weeds and she’s wearing a dress that looks like she took it off a Disney princess, tossed it in a grain thresher, and got an ape to sew it back together.
Hell, boy. At some point, all fathers want to kill their sons. Just like all sons think about killing their old man. They’re too much alike or they’re not enough alike. It doesn’t matter. What’s beaut...
Fortunately, I’m good at ignoring a lot of what my brain does.
Fear is like curling up under a warm blanket for some people, especially the rich.
Everyone in California is a Buddhist for fifteen minutes. Then they realize they’re not allowed to eat chili dogs and enlightenment starts sounding like a real drag.