“I had to wonder, though, if there's something about a murderer, particularly a confident one, that gives him a certain charisma or charm that I, in particular, am susceptible to.I mean, there's a reason more women are attracted to Dracula than repelled by him.I made a resolution to myself. From now on, I'd assume that every man I was attracted to was a murderer until proven otherwise.Perhaps it wasn't the most promising strategy for starting a relationship, but I might live longer.”

“Monk worked on his remaining Intertect cases at his dining table while I tried to hone my detecting instincts by reading the Murder, She Wrote novel he bought in Mill Valley.I can't say that I learned much about investigative procedure but I discovered that you should stay far away from Cabot Cove. That tiny New England village is deadlier than Beirut, South Central Los Angeles, and the darkest back alley in Juarez combined. Even though every killer eventually gets caught by Jessica Fletcher, I still wouldn't feel safe there. I'm surprised the old biddy walks around town unarmed.”

“Of course, that rationalization didn't work at all. It would have helped if I'd had some Oreo cookie ice cream to eat at the same time. I've learned that self-delusion is much easier when there's something sweet in your mouth.”

“I refilled the wineglass and took it with me for a nice long bubble bath, where I settled in with Ambrose's guide for low-voltage outdoor lighting.It wasn't thrilling bubble-bath reading material, but I was impressed by his imagination. You wouldn't know from the writing that he'd never actually seen a low-voltage lighting system in someone's yard, much less installed one himself. His descriptions were clear, colorful, and written with authority. The inscription wasn't bad either: To Natalie, You're a high-voltage system as far as I am concerned.”

“I had to stop him from arresting an old lady who let her dog urinate against the fire hydrant that was in front of Burgerville headquarters."You'll blow our cover.""But what if there is a fire?""The fire department will come and put it out," I said."With what?""Water," I said."Not from that hydrant," Monk said. "It's inoperable.""No, it's not," I said. "It can still be used.""There is urine all over it," Monk said. "no fireman would dare touch it, nor would any other human being.""Firefighters run into burning buildings," I said."They aren't going to care about some dog pee on a fire hydrant.""They would if they knew," Monk said. "We should call and warn them. Call Joe right now. He can get the word out faster than we can.""Every fire hydrant in the city has dog pee on it, Mr. Monk. It's how dogs mark their territory. I can guarantee you that every male dog that has passed that hydrant has pissed on it."He looked at me, wide eyed, "No.""It's what dogs do," I said. "The firefighters knows this."Monk swallowed hard. "And they still use the hydrants?""Of course they do.""They are the bravest men on earth," Monk said solemnly.”

“Guilt and fear are a kind of rot. It spreads unless it's cleaned. And there's only one way to do that.”

“I wonder if I don't give too much of myself to writing: I am always half where I am; the other half is feeding the furnace, kick-starting the heat of creativity. I am making love with someone but at the same time I'm noticing how this graceful hand across my belly might just fit in with the memory of lilacs in Albuquerque in 1974.”