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Einstein should have spent more time investigating the uneven way that time passed in December, the supermassive black hole of the Gregorian calendar.
She’d felt herself being reclassified from grieving to depressed. And depression, unlike grief, was treated as a character flaw.
If you don’t own a beautiful painting, at least get yourself an expensive frame.
Still, in the end, it’s up to each of us to look out for our own interests, because no one else will unless their interests align.
Why is it that the more I change, the more I need everything around me to stay the same? It’s a perverse design flaw in our species.
“I want it in writing.” “Well, I assume you brought the lawyer for a reason.”
If anyone was home, she would just scream until a neighbor called the police. That qualified as a plan, didn’t it?
“Hello?” she said and winced when she got no answer. When was she going to learn to quit doing that? She should just save time and tie a cowbell around her neck and be done with it.
He looked none too happy, as if he’d gone to the dentist for a cleaning but stayed for a root canal.
In person, he didn’t look anywhere close to forty-two, and she understood why he had grown the beard. It had to be a challenge to lead a hate group with the face of a cherubic Boy Scout.
“Math was easy for me. Flew through it in high school. Algebra, geometry, trig. Just made sense to my brain. Teachers would dock me points for not showing my work, because I could see the answers in my head.”
same.
“Pieces are being moved around the board, and I’m not even sure what game it is we’re playing.” Welcome to my world.
“That’s not the impression you give in your speeches.” “Well, since when have nuanced arguments ever worked in America?”
Humans are very good at inventing solutions and very, very bad at anticipating consequences.”
“In this country, power doesn’t derive from defeating a threat; true power comes from the fear of the threat. And maintaining power requires a continuing threat.
“You’re really strange, you know that?” “Shh. Our little secret,” he said with a sly wink,
It was picturesque and quaint, and about the last thing Con expected to find behind all that carefully designed security. The equivalent of opening a bank vault to find a penny.
“Welcome home,” Abigail Stickling said, looking remarkably fit for someone who had leapt to her death on Christmas night eighteen months ago.
“How about don’t talk like a fortune cookie? You promised me answers—answer
“A car? Please. A car is the most natural thing in the world.” “How? You don’t find cars in nature.” “Of course you do. Tens of millions of them,” Cabigail said. “That’s not nature, that’s Detroit.”
What happened when someone with a god complex became one?
Most of life is lived to be forgotten. That was the way of things, cruel though it felt when it was your life that would be lost.
If you lived your life to be remembered when you were gone, you were wasting your time.
