Darkly dreaming Dexter

Perhaps it didn’t seem politically correct; dark-haired girls, and dark-skinned girls, should have an equal opportunity to be kidnapped, sexually abused, and then cut up in front of a camera, don’t you think?

Why do so many people start their messages with It’s me? Of course it is you. We all know that. But who the hell ARE you?

I think people understand things different when they get older, he says. It’s not a question of getting soft, or seeing things in the gray areas instead of black and white. I really believe I’m just understanding things different. Better.

I can't even keep pets. Animals hate me. I bought a dog once; it barked and howled—at me—in a nonstop no-mind fury for two days before I had to get rid of it. I tried a turtle. I touched it once and it wouldn't come out of its shell again, and after a few days of that it died. Rather than see me or have me touch it again, it died.

If only I was capable of love, how I would have loved Harry.

LaGuerta is very very good at kissing ass, a world-class ass kisser. She kissed ass all the way up to the lofty rank of homicide investigator.

I'm quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake all of it. I fake it very well, and the feelings are never there.

“What are you?” Father Donovan whispered. “The beginning,” I said. “And the end. Meet your Unmaker, Father.”