333 Quotes by Jeff Lindsay

And so as much as I can, I care about her, dear Deborah. It’s probably not love, but I would rather she were happy.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Aside from the fruit basket, the room was as empty as the inside of Dexter on the shelf marked SOUL.

I did not spend a great deal of my time worrying about anything – planning, yes, making sure that things went just right on my Special Nights Out. But worrying truly seemed to be an emotional activity rather than a rational one, and until now it had never furrowed my forehead. But.

I smiled at her, my most comforting, challenging, I’m-not-really-a-shark smile.

Vince had answered the door in a body-hugging satin gown with a basket of fruit on his head. “J. Edgar Hoover?” I asked him.

I felt wrapped in a fog of dull pain that hurt only enough to remind me that it, too, was without purpose, and there seemed no point to going through the empty motions of breakfast, the long slow drive to work, no reason at all beyond the slavery of habit. But.

What a frail thing a human being is – and without the Passenger, that is all I was, a poor imitation of a human being. Weak, soft, slow and stupid, unseeing, unhearing and unaware, helpless, hopeless, and harried.

You need an action hero, somebody who can kick down the door and storm in with guns blazing. I’m just a mild-mannered forensics geek.