“My gold­fish and me, both of us are just here swim­ming in one place.”

“And I say no. The problem is the light, the dim light down here. Cupped in the palm of my hand, the cyanide and the wood pill, I can't tell which is which. What's sex and what's death—I can't tell the difference.I ask which one to give her.And Mr. Bacardi leans in to look, both of us breathing hot, damp air into my open hand.”

“Here's one night when I control the chaos. I participate with the doom I can't control. I'm dancing with the inevitable, and I survive....My regular little dress rehearsal...the day I finally meet Death, the two of us will be old, long-lost friends. Me and Death, separated at birth.”

“Just each of us being me, me, me first. The murderer, the victim, the witness each of us thinks our role is the lead.Probably that goes for anybody in the world.”

“They told me that nothing was a sin, just a poor life choice. Poor impulse control. That nothing is evil. Any concept of right versus wrong, according to them, is merely a cultural construct relative to one specific time and place. They said that if anything should force us to modify our personal behavior it should be our allegiance to a social contract, not some vague, externally imposed threat of flaming punishment.”

“I just want one person I can rescue and I want one person who needs me. Who can't live without me. I want to be a hero, but not just one time.”

“My inventory of people who can save me is down to just me.”