Miracle Cure Quotes

“Everything, Sara,” John said simply. He pulled out a book, glanced at the binding, and put it back on the shelf. “You see, focus can be a dangerous thing. Your view of the world narrows. You grow obsessed. Blinded. You see everything in terms of your obsession and nothing else. You cannot accept defeat. You cannot understand why everyone else does not share your passion. Don’t get me wrong. Concentration and focus are good and necessary. But when they slide unchecked, they can distort your perspective. In the ultimate pursuit of knowledge, you can easily become ignorant.” Sara”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Silverman,”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“you have a chance. It’s . . . it’s rather important. Bye.” She was about to reach for the receiver when the phone rang. “Hello?” “Hello, Sara? It’s Jennifer Riker.” “Hello, Jennifer. How are you?” “Fine, thanks.” Pause. “Sara, have you heard anything . . . ?” “Nothing,” she said quickly. “I wish there was something I could do.” “He’ll be fine.” “I hope the package I sent Harvey will help.” “What package?” “Hasn’t Harvey called you?” “He left a message for me on my machine, but I haven’t had a chance to call him back yet. What package, Jennifer?” “Bruce mailed a package to his California P.O. box the same day he committed suicide. It probably means nothing—” “What kind of package?” “It had all kinds of medical”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“In the ultimate pursuit of knowledge, you can easily become ignorant.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Janice Matley. As quickly as the name had formed in his mind, Eric pushed it away. No use thinking about that now. Dead was dead. No comeback. No reprieve. Nothing. Eric”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“DR. Eric Blake checked his appearance in the mirror. As always, everything was in place. When people were asked to describe him, they rarely used terms like handsome or ugly or even nondescript. They usually said neat. Tidy. Immaculate. Every hair in place, shoelaces tied, every button buttoned. Eric’s shirttail never hung out, his socks always matched, his face was always clean-shaven. Even now Eric looked cool, unemotional, detached. But inside, under the fastidious grooming—well, that was another matter. His”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“I guess so,” he said. “But there is still a lot that doesn’t make sense.” “Like what?” “Like why would Sanders do it? What does Sanders gain from the murders?” “He wipes out the evidence,” Sara replied. “No cured patients, no cure.” Max shook his head. “There have to be easier ways than going through all this Gay Slasher stuff. Like your father says, the press from the Gay Slasher has strengthened the clinic. More donations, more media support—even Markey couldn’t close them down anymore.” “So”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“He kept replaying his conversation with Winston O’Connor, the first big break in days. Clearly the National Institutes of Health had a strong interest in Sidney Pavilion. The question was why. O’Connor’s explanation that the NIH wanted to keep an eye on its interests rang hollow. Why single out the Sidney Pavilion? There had to be a reason. But”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“IN Bethesda, Maryland, four powerful men sat in a plush office in a picturesque baronial structure on the campus of the National Institutes of Health. One was powerful in the religious world; one in the political realm; two in the medical community. It was a beautiful day. The sky was dark blue and clear. The well-manicured grounds outside were alive with green. The whole area resembled the most exclusive of country clubs. But the four men were oblivious to their resort like surroundings. Arguments raged. Accusations were hurled. Fingers were pointed. And in the end nothing was resolved. Through it all, one man had not raised his voice. One man had not engaged in the bitter debate. One man—a normally very verbose man—had not said a word. But the man had listened. And the man had made a decision. As”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“George reached Rama IV Road, he hailed a tuk-tuk, the native taxi of Thailand. A cross between a car and a scooter, the tuk-tuk had its good points—it was small, quick, used up next to no fuel, and was open-air. It also got crushed in an accident, had no headroom, and was open-air. The”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Michael caught his breath. With some effort he worked his vocal cords. “What do you want?” “Don’t”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“The heat in the room was well past tropical, the air thick and still. His body was coated with sweat. He tried to wipe his cheek on his shoulder, but his wet shirt just added more perspiration to the area. He glanced about the room again. His eyes stopped when he saw a piece of paper on the floor: Hello, Michael.   Welcome to the land of consciousness. I hope you had a pleasant nap and an equally pleasant journey. Try to make yourself comfortable. Please do not try to escape. If by some miracle you were gone when I returned, I would hunt down your beautiful bride, fuck her, and then kill her.   Best wishes, George   P.S. I have people downstairs, so don’t try shouting out the window. I’m having a nightmare, Michael said to himself. That’s what it is. A nightmare. Either that or I am losing my mind. He”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“The point of the thin knife penetrated the hollow of Janice’s throat and sliced through her windpipe. Thick streams of warm blood spurted onto George’s face as the stiletto exited out the back of her neck, inches below the spot where his hand gripped her skull. Janice’s gaze locked onto his. She could see her own horror-stricken face reflected in the cold blankness of the murderer’s eyes. His grip on her head tightened. She gargled on her blood for a moment before her eyes rolled into her head. The last sounds she heard were the buzzing of the lights and the inhuman choking noises still forcing their way past her own lips. George”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“She swallowed. “Who’s there?” she called out. Her voice, she was surprised to hear, sounded steady, confident. “I said, who’s there?” She saw the foot slide forward. The sneaker was completely black after all. Reeboks, as a matter of fact. A man, a big man, followed the sneakers. He was dressed entirely in black. Black sneakers, black socks, black sweater, black pants. His shirtsleeves were pushed up, revealing powerful forearms the size of Popeye’s. He stepped out from inside the doorway and smiled at her. The smile was wide, bright, but mostly . . . unfeeling. It touched no other part of his face. When she looked up into his dark, bleak eyes, a cold chill rippled in her belly And”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Politicians used deception and slick packaging to create an image a person could trust.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Luckily, Dixie, Ernie, and the two girls, Sissy and Mary Ann, all loved his money. Money was power, no question about it. Sanders remembered how his father used to recite the Golden Rule—he who has the gold makes the rules. And Sanders had the gold. The power. The control. And”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“RAYMOND Markey put down the phone. In front of his desk Reverend Sanders sat smiling. Such an eerie smile, Raymond thought. So genuinely jolly, friendly, gentle. Not sinister at all. What a mask it was. Incredible really—as incredible as the man himself. Markey knew Sanders’ history. Poor boy from the South. Father was a farmer who ran moonshine across state lines. Mother was a drunk. Sanders had conned, clawed, and blackmailed his way out of poverty, stampeding over anything that got in his way. He was shrewd. He knew how to manipulate people and consolidate a power base. His influence had started with the poor and uneducated and now stretched into some of Washington’s most powerful circles. Including mine, Markey thought. “Done,”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Harvey nodded. “Okay, sounds reasonable. But I want your word that the patients won’t be touched without specific permission. If your doctor were to give them the wrong medication or take unnecessary tests—” “He won’t—you have my word. I’d also like to go through the medical records of the four victims.” “Of course, Lieutenant, but let me ask you something.” “Go ahead.” “If this conspiracy is so powerful, how do I know you’re not a part of it?” Bernstein stopped pacing, looked up, and twirled his hair around his middle finger. “Interesting question,” he replied. And then he walked out the door.     JENNIFER”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“RALPH Edmund, the county coroner, rolled the stretcher past Max. Ralph looked like a coroner—to be more precise, a mortician. Sallow skin, tall, thin body, thin black hair, long fingers. On the other hand he never dressed like a mortician. He wore loud colors, polyester prints, and ostentatious gold jewelry. He also did not act like a mortician. Ralph was emotional, loud, uncouth as all hell. Even better, he had the charming habit of chewing tobacco and spitting the black-yellow juice wherever and whenever he saw fit. “I”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Good afternoon. My name is Sara Lowell.” He looked at her, startled. “You’re Sara Lowell?” “You sound surprised.” “I am,” he said. “You’re not what I pictured.” “What did you picture?” He shrugged. “Something a little gruffer-looking, I guess.” “Gruffer-looking?” “Yeah. Dark, curly hair. Cigarette dangling from lip with an ash about to fall of. Manual typewriter. Black sweater. A little on the meaty side.” “Sorry if I disappointed you.” “Hardly,” he said. “What are you doing here, Miss Lowell?” “Sara.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Behind them, the door opened. Sara turned and watched Harvey and Eric enter. Their grim expressions seemed to magnify into looks of tremendous pain when they saw Michael and Sara embracing. Sara took a second look at their faces, at the way they held their heads, at the way their hands stayed still in their pockets. And she knew. She knew without question or hesitation. It was over. Everything was over. She held Michael closely, feeling his muscles stiffen. She wanted very much to scream. Harvey stepped forward and closed the door. “We need to talk.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“How’s the orange juice?” Sara asked. “Tastes like paint thinner,” he replied. “What time is it?” “Seven a.m. Did you sleep well?” “Not really,” he said. “I don’t like sleeping in separate beds.” “Neither do I,” Sara said, “but my bed is only a yard away.” “Makes it worse. Sort of like being able to see the Holy Grail and not grasp it.” “How poetic.” “To put it somewhat less poetically, I want your bod.” “And”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“How about ‘We’re Northeastern Airlines, doing what we do best’?” “Sorry.” “ ‘I’m Candy, fly me’?” “Might work if you show some cleavage.” “No problem,” Cassandra said. “I majored in cleavage in college.” “I bet.” He found a red tie crumpled into his loafer. “I probably won’t be back here until the day after tomorrow.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Sara tried to smile, but it never reached more than the corners of her mouth. She sensed that Michael’s past woes were not finished with him yet, that they were still potent enough to reach into the present and hurt him . . . “Mind if I join you two?” “Hello, Max,” Sara said. “Max, you know Eric Blake, don’t you?” “I believe we’ve met,” Bernstein said. “How are you, Doctor?” “Very well, thank you,” Eric replied as the beeper on his belt went off. “If you two will excuse me, I have to go.” “Emergency?”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“I can order in Chinese, if you’d like.” She”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Assistant Secretary for Health of the Department of Health and Human Services—a long and rather unimpressive title, Raymond Markey thought. But he knew better. His office was in charge of the U.S. Public Health Service, controlling such agencies as the Food and Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control, and the National Institutes of Health—hardly an unimportant or ceremonial post. Markey”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“DR. Raymond Markey, Assistant Secretary for Health of the Department of Health and Human Services, stared out the window at the lush green compound in Bethesda, Maryland.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“Dr. Simpson showed Sara to a chair and then went to a window where she handed a test tube filled with Sara’s blood to a nurse. “Take this to the lab. Have them run a beta HCG stat.” “Yes, Doctor.” “A beta HCG?” Sara asked. “Fancy talk for a pregnancy test,” Carol Simpson explained. “Doctors like to use code words no one else understands. Makes us sound more intelligent, don’t you think?” Sara”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“The cast on his leg had been enormous and about as comfortable as wearing a jockstrap made of tweed. He hobbled around for months, listening to Sara tease him. “Stop imitating my limp. It’s not a very nice thing to do.” “Great.”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure

“So why don’t you tell me what’s up?” “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” “Nothing new there.” Harvey chuckled and then scanned the area to make sure that no one was around. “All right,” he said slowly, “here goes. As you know, Bruce and I have been running the clinic for almost three years now, trying our best to keep all results secret and avoiding the press at all costs.” “I”
― Harlan Coben, Miracle Cure