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“If,” Roland said. “An old teacher of mine used to call it the only word a thousand letters long.”
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There were two versions of Officer Bosconi. One of them was a nice guy. The other one was a cop.
Definition of a wanderer, Eddie thought, a guy who’s always looking beyond.
The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the goodbyes that tell us we’re still alive, after all.
“This used to be a great country,” the Leabrook version of Rudebacher mourns, and Callahan thinks how great it is that some things don’t change; the fundamental bitch-and-moans apply as time goes by.
Took was coming off as a shithead, which wasn’t surprising. Took clearly was a shithead.
“Gods leave siguls. Men leave machines.”
greed in a good cause is still greed.”
Eddie remembered the punchline of an old New York joke: “Pardon me, sir, can you tell me how to get to City Hall, or should I just go fuck myself?”
He had great faith in Oy. Or maybe it was love. Or maybe those things were the same.
