“...Jane remained in her chair thinking about justice, about how the dead never benefited from it. For them it always comes too late.”

“Now we sit and wait,” the woman said, and she settled into a chair, the gun on her lap.“What are we waiting for?” Jane asked.The woman stared at her. Said, calmly: “The end.”

“You know that movie, where the little boy says 'I see dead people'?The Sixth Sense.Well, I see them all the time, and I'm getting tired of it. That's what's ruined my mood. Here it is, almost Christmas, and I didn't even think about putting up a tree, because I'm still seeing the autopsy lab in my head. I'm still smelling it on my hands. I come home on a day like this, after two postmortems, and I can't think about cooking dinner. I can't even look at a piece of meat without thinking of muscle fibers. All I can deal with is a cocktail. And then I pour the drink and smell the alcohol, and suddenly there I am, back in the lab. Alcohol, formalin, they both have that same sharp smell.”

“She siged, a sound of regret for childhood transgressions, for all the lessons learned too late.”

“The whole world isn't out to hurt you, Jane. - DeanBecause I don't let it - Jane”

“What Rizzoli thought, staring at her own image, was that she hated Elizabeth Hurley for giving women false hope. The brutal truth was, there are some women who will never be beautiful, and Rizzoli was one of them.”

“Had she always been so insulated from human contact, like a bloom encased in frost?”