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“You know what a publisher is? He’s a failed writer whose father was rich enough that he’s able to appropriate other people’s talents.
(Harry was crazy about those sausages; he thought they alone justified the war in Iraq.)
“Your overambitiousness always did get on my nerves.
“Don’t thank me. It’s the simple truth. But don’t come to me like a crybaby because you haven’t received the Nobel Prize yet! For God’s sake, you’re twenty-eight years old! Jesus . . . stick your great novels up your ass! The Nobel Prize in Stupidity, that’s what you deserve.”
“I think the problem is you fuck like you write: it’s ecstasy or it’s nothing.
“I’ll think about it.” “When you say that, it means you won’t think about it.”
This was also the year of the Lewinsky affair: the year of the presidential blow job, when the country discovered, to its horror, that fellatio had infiltrated the highest echelons of public life.
thought you were a criminal.” “Because I’m black?” “No, because you look like a criminal. Is that a bolo tie you’re wearing?”
I’ve been married for fifty years, and I’ve never felt the need to write a book about my wife.”
He’s a fuck wit, a genius, an asshole, but he’ll pull it off, you see.
“You’re married, Sergeant? That’s funny. You’re so disagreeable, I would have bet anything you didn’t have a family.”
“I need information, Sergeant. I have a pathological desire to know everything. I’m a control freak, you see—I have to control everything.” “Really? Then control yourself!”
You made me feel sorry for you, with your bewildered look and your muddy shoes.”
Writing a book is like loving someone. It can be very painful.”
“I drove past your former church,” I said. “It’s been turned into a McDonald’s.” “The whole world is being turned into a McDonald’s, Mr. Goldman.”
The morning I spent with Roth studying the evidence was somewhat tense, not least because, as he went through the documents, he kept repeating, “Oh shit, that is not good. That is not good at all.”
“I read on the Internet that when children disappear, the culprit is often a member of the family.” Gahalowood rolled his eyes. “I read on the Internet that you’re a great writer. So clearly the Internet is just a pack of lies.”
“My Jenny is a very special girl,” Tamara explained, while Robert took advantage of his wife’s divided attention to stuff his face with ham.
“You’re really not interested in what I have to say, are you?” “Yes, I am. Very interested. I’m listening carefully to everything you say. Number Fourteen: Life is a rip-off.” “For God’s sake, Marcus, you haven’t understood anything. Sometimes I get the feeling I’m talking to a moron.”
“Your car is a trash can, Sergeant.” “It’s a state police vehicle. Kindly show some respect.” “All right, then it’s a state trash can.
“You stole it from his house?” “I didn’t steal anything; I took it.
