“I was getting the hang of arson. It really sends a message, you know? Not only will I kill your dudes and steal your shit, but I will burn your place down behind me.”

“Did you even use anything at all in that bag of yours?""No, but I might use some of it later." And I almost certainly would, once I got rid of this crybaby and picked up my drag queen.”

“I immediately felt better about killing him. I’ve never known a Trevor who wasn’t a total douchebag. It’s just one of those names that goes so nicely with selfish, arrogant, malicious behavior—and really, what did I know about this guy? Nothing, except that his name was Trevor and he’d been nabbed in the midst of breaking-and-entering. That was plenty.”

“OMG YOU GUYS it has come to my attention that SOMEONE on the internet is saying that my fictional 19th century zombies are NOT SCIENTIFICALLY SOUND. Naturally, I am crushed. To think, IF ONLY I’d consulted with a zombologist or two before sitting down to write, I could’ve avoided ALL THIS EMBARRASSMENT.”

“You‘re a hard negotiator, Ray-Baby.""I‘m going to get a lot harder if you call me that again." "Give me a minute. Less than a minute. I‘m almost certain I can make a filthy joke in response to that.""No", I told him. "No, for the love of God, don’t.”

“But the other half of my motivation came from farther back in my brain, in the curious part that I inherited. It came from the spot in my skull that feels the burning need to unravel puzzles, finish crosswords, indulge in Internet games, and read all the mystery books I can get my grubby little paws on. Like it or not, need it or not, and want it or not, I can't leave a good mystery alone.”

“"I don't know exactly what's wrong with you, but I bet it's hard to pronounce when you're drunk."”