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“These are complicated machines. You’ve got to be like a machine yourself. There’s no room for mistakes.”
the most outrageous eyelashes (why do boys always get the best lashes?)
God, I was hoping these three had moved away after high school. Or maybe died of dysentery. I’m not picky.
the bruise under his right eye, or the nasty cut on his lip. And neither of those injuries can mar the outrageous beauty of his face. In fact, they only serve to highlight it.
Nero is proof of the perversity of the universe. Never has such a dangerous object been disguised in such an appealing wrapper.
He’s like a berry so vivid and juicy that it makes your mouth water just looking at it. But...
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“Levi really needs to start getting security for these parties. Keep the trash out.” “You sure you’d make the cut?”
“You don’t see a lot of girl mechanics.” “I doubt you know a lot of mechanics at all,”
It’s not the best moment for sarcasm. But I get so sick of the comments. Especially from men. Especially the ones who don’t trust me to work on their car, when they wouldn’t know a piston from a plug.
my brain is screaming at me that this is very fucking weird. But I’m not going to argue. I’m drowning in trouble—I’ll take any life preserver thrown at me. I just hope it’s not an anchor in disguise.
It looks like the end of the world happened, and I’m the only person left around to see it.
I went to one lecture where the professor spent the whole hour yammering on about the nature of reality. If he can’t understand reality, then how am I supposed to?
He’s got one of those faces where everything is almost in the right place, but there’s just something off about it.
“I doubt you know what an interested girl looks like,”
The top of my skull meets his nose with sickening force. In the roshambo of body parts, skull beats nose every time.
Kicking is a bitch move, especially three-on-one.
The air is so thick with smoke that I could get high just by breathing hard.
you can’t force Bella to self-reflect. She’s got about as much clarity as a fifty-foot oil well.
I love my little brother more than anything in the world. I’ll go to prison before I watch him incinerate his life before it’s even begun.
I don’t like his condescending tone or the way he’s shown up here like he’s marking territory in the only place in the world that belongs to me.
Vic and I are just tools to him. He doesn’t care if he destroys us, as long as he gets another tally in his arrest book.
“Memorize that number,” Schultz tells me again. “I’ll put it in my phone,” I say. So I can make sure never to pick up when you call.
“You’re not reading the news if you don’t get ink on your hands.”
There’s being a criminal, and there’s being a murderer . . . you cross that line and there’s no going back. It changes you. It certainly changed me. It shows you how a person can leave this world in a split-second. Dead in the time it takes to flick off a light switch. And that’s it—infinite nothingness, like the infinite nothing that came before. Your whole life is just a brief flare in the void. So what does it matter what we do? Good, evil, kindness, cruelty . . . it’s all a spark that goes out without a trace. The whole existence of humanity will mean nothing, once the sun expands and
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the mafia dons who moved to Las Vegas—they opened casinos to launder their illegal money, and all of a sudden, the casinos were raking in more cash than the illegal rackets. Whoops—you’re a legitimate businessman.
“You ever see a python try to eat an alligator?” Dante says. “Even if it can strangle the gator, it chokes trying to swallow it down.”
I don’t talk while he’s thinking. You don’t stir the cement when it’s already setting.
If I identify with any superhero, it would be Batman.
The only thing I feel the slightest sentimentality about is my cars. Only machinery gives me that impulse to care and nurture. It’s the only time I can be patient and careful. When I’m driving, I actually feel calm. And even just a little bit happy. The wind blows in my face. Speeding by on an open road, everything looks clean and bright. I don’t see the little details—the cracks and grime and ugliness. Not until I stop and I’m walking again.
It was my first foray into arson. It was pretty fucking satisfying seeing the flames roar up like a living thing, like a demon summoned from hell. I could see how people get addicted to it.
Because she doesn’t smile much, her eyes give most of the expression to her face.
she’s always been the responsible type. Well, that’s her problem, not mine.
I’ve got a sick feeling of dread, like I’m standing in an abandoned building and the walls are starting to crumble down around me.
I keep working harder and harder, just to watch my dreams slip through my fingers like sand.
And for me . . . I don’t know. I don’t even know what I want for myself.
I’ll take it, even if it fell out of the devil’s pocket.
“I really hadn’t had a chance to miss you,” I say. “Try staying away longer.”
He has his normal level of crazy. And then he has his moments where he seems to crave pure immolation. He’s somebody who wants to go out in a blaze of glory.
It’s nice to remember that not everybody I went to school with was an ass. Just most of them, unfortunately.
“You really haven’t changed since high school,” I tell her. “That’s not a compliment.”
“I went to college. There’s more drugs on campus than the whole rest of the city.” “Yeah, well, there’s also diplomas.”
Great. I’m a drug dealer now. I don’t exactly feel like celebrating,
the way the engines snarl like a beast under the hood. A car wants to race just like a horse does. And I want to be the one behind the wheel.
Time slows down. You can live an entire year in the space of fourteen seconds. I can see everything—every pebble on the pavement, every drop of moisture on the windshield. I can feel the whole operation of the engine through the vibration of the gearshift under my palm.
That was a bad night. I was in a fucking fury. In one of those states where I feel like I want to see the whole city burn down around me. I don’t know why I get like that. There’s something wrong with me. If I feel something painful, I want more pain, more rage, more violence. Maybe i...
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I’ll race anybody. It’s not about the money. It’s the challenge.
Sometimes the rich boys are the worst thugs of all. They want to prove they’re hard-asses.
Camille is . . . real. She is who she is, and she doesn’t apologize. There’s honesty in that.
That’s what creepy losers do. They stand on the sidelines watching more interesting people living their lives.”
Now my eyes are fixed on him like I’m seeing him for the first time. It’s too much. He fills my brain. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
