“Twelve dead?” I said. “Jesus.”

“My father's gone," Joe said eventually. "Emma's dead. Your brother's dead. My brothers scattered. Shit, D, you're one of the only people I know anymore. I lose you, who the fuck am I?”

“He used it on the next guard, the one in front of the fence. He disarmed him, a kid, a baby, really, and the guard said, 'You going to kill me?''Jesus, kid, no,' Teddy said and snapped the butt of the rifle into the kid's temple.”

“He looked back at the page, got one last glimpse before the match blew itself out.Going to find you today, Andrew. If I don't owe Dolores my life, I owe her that much, at least.Going to find you.Going to kill you dead.”

“And often the worst thing wasn't the victims--they were dead, after all, and beyond any more pain. The worst thing was those who loved them and survived them. Often the walking dead from now on, shell-shocked, hearts ruptured, stumbling through the remainder of their lives without anything left inside of them but blood and organs, impervious to pain, having learned nothing except that the worst things did, in fact, sometimes happen. (Mystic River)”

“Grief, he said, is carnivorous.”

“I loved this woman the way you love ... well, nothing," he said, a note of suprise in his voice. "You can’t compare that kind of love to anything, can you? It’s its own unique gift.”