There's something ugly about the flawless.— Dennis Lehane
The most proven Dennis Lehane quotes to get the best of your day
She smiled darkly and shook her head.
'I'm not crazy. I'm not. Of course what else would a crazy person claim? That's the Kafkaesque genius of it all. If you're not crazy but people have told the world you are, then all your protests to the contrary just underscore their point. Do you see what I'm saying?
I have a lot of rage about things that didn't happen to me, tied up with watching an immigrant, working-class father struggle to make his way through the world - and seeing how society was modeled to keep him in his place.
In Greek tragedy, they fall from great heights. In noir, they fall from the curb.
It's hard to close the door on optimistic expectations when you love someone.
Chuck said, “Hey. How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Cawley looked over at him. “I’ll bite. How many?” “Fish,” Chuck said and let loose a bright bark of a laugh.
I can't remember coming across a more precise evocation of innocence lost since Golding's The Lord of the Flies. With The Death of Sweet Mister, Daniel Woodrell has written his masterpiece-spare, dark, and incandescently beautiful. It broke my heart.
What molds us is what maims us.
But I often think we talk way too much in this society, that we consider verbalization a panacea that it very often is not, and that we turn a blind eye to the sort of morbid self-absorption that becomes a predictable by-product of it.
If you are deemed insane, then all actions that would oherwise prove you are not do, in actuality, fall into the framework of an insane person’s actions. Your sound protests constitute denial. Your valid fears are deemed paranoia. Your survival instincts are labeled defense mechanisms. It’s a no-win situation. It’s a death penalty really.
Catch me on a good day, I think half of my books aren't too bad.
Catch me on a bad day, I think I've never written a good line.
I was not going to use writing for advertising or journalism.
I would tend bar, load trucks, chauffeur - do whatever it took. But from the moment I took my first writing workshop, I was a writer.
The world does not have tidy endings.
The world does not have neat connections. It is not filled with epiphanies that work perfectly at the moment that you need them.
And he hated himself and hated her,too, for the ruin they'd made of each other.
I believe so deeply in the primacy of language, in lifting your prose to the highest level you're capable of and making your words symphonic.
When I was young, I asked my priest how to get to heaven and still protect yourself from all the evil in the world. He told me what God told His children;'You are sheep among wolves, be wise as the serpent, yet innocent as doves.
Grief, I swear to God, doesn't live in the heart.
It lives in the senses. And sometimes, all I want to do is cut off my nose so I can't smell her, hack my fingers off at the joint.
I normally can't stand vice-free people.
They conflate a narcissistic instinct for self-preservation with moral superiority. Plus, they suck the life right out of a party.
Visitation Street is urban opera writ large.
Gritty and magical, filled with mystery, poetry and pain, Ivy Pochoda’s voice recalls Richard Price, Junot Diaz, and even Alice Sebold, yet it’s indelibly her own.
Happiness comes in moments, & then it's gone until the next time. Could be years. But sadness settles it.
We were supposed to grow old together, Dolores.
Have kids. Take walks under old trees. I wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into your flesh and know when each and every one of them appeared. Die together.
You've learned that every good lie is threaded with truth and every accepted truth leaks lies.
I love television. I think we're in a renaissance of epic proportion in television now.
Do you honestly think Lenin is any different from J.
P. Morgan? That you, if you were given absolute power, would behave any differently? Do you know the primary difference between men and gods?...Gods don't think they can become men.
Which would be worse - to live as a monster, or to die as a good man?
How am I supposed to let you go, that's all I'm asking.
I want to hold you again, smell you, and, yes too, I just want you to fade. To please, please fade.
That's the thing about being a victim;
you start to think it'll happen to you on a regular basis. It's living with the reality of your own vulnerability, and it sucks.
Charm was the luxury of those who still believed in the essential rightness of things. In purity and picket fences.
Vanity is a weakness. I know this. It's a shallow dependence on the exterior self, on how one looks instead of what one is. I know this well... Vanity and dishonesty may be vices, but they're also the first forms of protection I ever knew.
Patrick Kenzie asking a bemused waitress for a newspaper in smalltown USA.
'It's like a homepage without a scroll button?'
I sort of play golf because a lot of my friends are into it, but I'm awful - my handicap is about six or seven thousand.
L.A. burns, and so many other cities smolder, waiting for the hose that will flood gasoline over the coals, and we listen to politicians who fuel our hate and our narrow views and tell us it's simply a matter of getting back to basics while they sit in their beachfront properties and listen to the surf so they won't have to hear the screams of the drowning.
Whatever she saw beyond the camera lens, beyond the photographer, beyond anything in the known world probably - wasn't fit to be seen.
The brain controls pain. It controls fear. Sleep. Empathy. Hunger. Everything we associate with the heart or the soul or the nervous system is actually controlled by the brain. Everything. What if you could control it?
The world according to Bubba is simple - if it aggravates you, stop it. By whatever means necessary.
Maybe there are some things we were put on this earth not to know.
How many psychiatrists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” “I don’t know. How many?” “Eight.” “Why?” “Oh, stop overanalyzing it.
Grief, he said, is carnivorous.
He wondered if this was what clinical depression felt like, a total numbness, a weary lack of hope.
This world can only give me reminders of what I don't have, can never have, didn't have for long enough.
The loneliness of another can be shocking when it lays itself bare without warning.
Happiness doesn't lie in conspicuous consumption and the relentless amassing of useless crap. Happiness lies in the person sitting beside you and your ability to talk to them. Happiness is clear-headed human interaction and empathy. Happiness is home. And home is not a house-home is a mythological conceit. It is a state of mind. A place of communion and unconditional love. It is where, when you cross its threshold, you finally feel at peace.
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.
She was afraid of all that and so much more, but what terrified her most was inside of her, an insect of unnatural intelligence who’d been living in her brain her entire life, playing with it, clicking across it, wrenching loose its cables on a whim.
Narrative becomes the way you make sense of chaos.
That's how you focus the world. It's the only reason you should ever try this writing job.
It's good not only to realize that you can't please all of the people all of the time, but that you don't want to. There's a certain type of reader that you don't ever want to write for.
I love to write, so it rarely seems like work - even when it gets arduous.
Your first family is your blood family and you always be true to that.
That means something. But there's another family and that's the kind you go out and find. Maybe even by accident sometimes. And they're as much blood as your first family. Maybe more so, because they don't have to look out for you and they don't have to love you. They choose to.
I held her, he wanted to say, and if I knew for certain that all it would take to hold her again would be to die, then I couldn't raise the gun to my head fast enough.
A pretty face had been damaged by acne scars and she wore and extra forty pounds on her frame like a threat. Her eyes were dull with anger disguised as apathy. If she kept on her current path, she'd grow into the type of person who fed her kids Doritos for breakfast and purchased angry bumper stickers with lots of exclamation points. But right now, she was just another in a long line of pissed-off small-town girls with a shitty outlook.