More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I knew you were the one the moment I saw you.” “Don’t make me gag.”
you learn in the hardest of ways that fate is fickle, that life is chaos and no one gets out unscathed, that you can have everything one moment and have it all snatched away so easily…
“Do you trust me, Maggie?” In truth she trusts no one anymore. Well, almost no one.
She hears the ringing of the retro black payphone in the corner of the bar with a sign reading OUT OF ORDER so no patrons use it. This is Porkchop’s version of a Batphone. Her father-in-law,
What do you call a longing for critical thinking and common sense and decency?
“What, you prefer my ‘girlfriends’?” “Not really.” “What then? My ‘hotties’? ‘Main squeezes’? ‘Love monkeys—’” “Did you say ‘love monkeys’?” “My bae, my boo, cuddle muffins—” “Please stop.” “Some of the youngins call them ‘shorties,’” Porkchop continues. “That better?”
“Be regular and orderly in your life, so you may be violent and original in your work.”
if you think our legal system is about truth or fairness or equality, you’re either not paying attention or delusional.
Scratch the surface of a person doing good works, and you’ll find someone who fears the mundane and conventional.
“Enjoy the smaller moments,” her father had often told her. “That’s where life is lived.”
“Good thing you said, ‘Don’t worry,’ because no one ever worries after someone says that.”
“And you know,” Maggie continues, trying very hard not to let her voice crack, “about his death.”
We all have constant inner monologues going on in our heads. We all have imaginary conversations with superior beings or dead loved ones. Is it any crazier to have these conversations with a nearly flawless AI replica of the man you loved?
Greed is not ‘I need more’—it’s the fear of losing what you already have.
Nadia has a tattoo on her leg. Maggie bends down for a closer look.
Maggie has seen only one tattoo like this before. On Marc’s leg.
nods. “He put me under for the operation. When I woke up, my kidney was gone, and on my leg…”
anyway. Asking any human to stop thinking is akin to asking them to stop their heart from beating.
He requested Maggie personally?” “Not the oligarch,” Barlow says. “Who then?” “His mistress.
“We think Trace is trying to find your husband.”
“Nothing ever stays stagnant in life.
Charles lets loose a long breath. “There are three theories about your husband’s death.
If Marc ended up ‘dying’”—he makes quote marks with his fingers—“in a refugee camp in Tunisia, then, well, you’d both be in the clear.”
Maggie loves music, but she doesn’t understand the need for it to be this hostile.
The appeal is entirely about who is allowed in—and who isn’t. Life is always a high school cafeteria.
“Hey, babe,” and starts dancing for her. He’s doing the middle-age Dancing Douchebag move of biting down on his lower lip.
“You’re Salima,” Maggie says. “You’re the guide who led Marc and Trace to the TriPoint refugee camp.”
Nadia nods. “I think someone sold Marc out.”
“And I think that someone was you, Maggie.”
Even after all he’s done to quiet his own screams. He’s lied to everyone to quiet the screams. Even Maggie.
So Grief bides its time. It lulls you, makes you think it’s not such a threat anymore, and then when your defenses are down—when
She freezes when she sees him, half worried it’s just a mirage.
“Part of the human condition is that we all think that we are uniquely complex—no one knows what we are really thinking, what we are capable of—and yet we are convinced we can read other people.
