Цитаты из книги Darkly Dreaming Dexter

Несколькими скупыми словами он придал форму всей моей жизни, всему во мне существующему, тому, что я есть и кто я есть. Чудный, всевидящий и всезнающий человек. Гарри. Мой папа.

В своем роде это рай. Особенно если ты — таракан

Просто тащусь от убийства. Оно вышибает из милашки Декстера его темные заморочки. Дивная разрядка, когда внутри открываются все эти гидравлические предохранительные клапаны.

Еще один прекрасный день в Майами. Изуродованные трупы, днем возможны небольшие осадки.

I preferred my sister alive, rather than in small bloodless sections. Lovely, almost human of me.

What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor's children?

Unfortunately, my retreat revealed the little diorama in the closet, and the young man was suddenly very busy finding someplace to put his breakfast. He made it to a large trash can about ten feet away before commencing his ugly blargging sounds. I stood quite still and waited for him to finish. Nasty habit, hurling half-digested food around like that. So unsanitary. And this was a guardian of public safety, too.

He looked at me for a moment, perhaps hoping I would loosen up and hand him a fistful of Krugerands, but as I said, that cruller was weighing heavily on my mind and I did not relent.

The Thing Inside calls out across the emptiness when it sees its own kind.

How else to explain it? That I was astrally projecting while I slept and just happened to tune my vibrations to the killer's aura because of our connection in a past life? Sure, that might make sense-if this was southern California. In Miami, it seemed a bit thin.

After so many years of solitary self-reliance, I was suddenly pursued from all directions by hungry women. Deb, Rita, LaGuerta-they were all apparently unable to exist without me.

Apparently I had a real girlfriend now. Where would the madness end?

This was a monster, a hunter, a killer. This was a predator, a soulless and evil thing. Just like me.

I did not care what Rita wanted to yell at me about. It would not really bother me, whatever sharp observations she had to make on my character defects, but it was irritating to be forced to spend time listening when I had other, far more important things to think about.

I had taken brainless, terrible risks, gone against all my careful procedures, gambled my entire carefully built life-and for what? A thrill kill? Shame on me.

I had never before done anything so impulsive, never before done anything at all without careful planning. That was the Harry Way: be careful, be safe, be prepared. The Dark Scouts.

Why should I have to think about Rita at all? I had more important concerns at the moment. Rita was merely my beard, a silly kid's costume I wore on weekends to hide the fact that I was the kind of person who did the things that this other interesting fellow was now doing and I wasn't.

In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.

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?

There was of course no possible doubt about who had been in my apartment. Unless I could swallow the idea that some stranger, for unknown reasons, had randomly chosen my apartment as the ideal spot to display his decapitated Barbie doll.