I know family comes first, but shouldn't that mean after breakfast?— Jeff Lindsay
The most bumbling Jeff Lindsay quotes that are little-known but priceless
Anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them.
Nothing in life is fair. Fair is a dirty word and I'll thank you not to use that language around me.
I am unlovable...I have tried to involve myself in other people, in relationships, and even - in my sillier moments - in love. But it doesn't work. Something in me is broken or missing and sooner or later the other person catches me Acting or one of Those Nights comes along.
But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.
And I was having too much fun to stop now.
Our universe is ruled by random whim, inhabited by people who laugh at logic.
It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.
First things first has always been my motto, mostly because it makes absolutely no sense - after all, if first things were second or third, they wouldn't be first things, would they? Still, cliches exist to comfort the feeble minded, not to provide any actual meaning.
It happens; incompetence is rewarded more often than not.
Life teaches us that human thought almost never walks hand in hand with logic, and it is usually counterproductive to raise the point.
...my conscience has the same hard reality as a unicorn.
I mean, really: what kind of person could possibly dislike me?
I'm a very neat monster.
They like to tell us that it is important to speak the truth, but it has been my experience that real happiness lies in having people tell you what you want to believe, usually not the same thing at all, and if you have to stub your toe on the truth later, so be it.
Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?
And once again I found myself wondering, as I drifted off to stunned and unbelieving sleep:How do these terrible things always happen to me?
The key to a happy life is to have accomplishments to be proud of and purpose to look forward to, and at the moment I had both. How wonderful it was to be me.
Since I am not actually a real human being, my emotional responses are generally limited to what I have learned to fake.
I think people understand things different when they get older.
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.
...being torn apart by far too many loyalties that could not possibly live together in the same brain.
As I've said, freedom is really an illusion.
Anytime we think we have a real choice, it just means we haven't seen the shotgun aimed at our navel.
A man who discovers his pants are on fire tends to have very little time to worry about somebody else's box of matches
What a terrible thing life can be.
A man can take only so much. Even a phony man like me.
I thought about the nice clothes that I always wore.
Well of course I did. I took pride in being the best dressed monster in Dade County.
I had killed our careful relationship by driving my tongue through its heart and pushing it off a cliff.
I'm quite sure more people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact.
I just fake all of it." --Dexter
And as always seems to happen when I have reached the point where I am ready to take decisive action, everything began to happen at once.
I had become a perfect fake human, saying the stupid and pointless things that humans say to each other all day long.
It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is
I stood up. It was all too much. I could not even meet my own expectations, and to be asked to deal with all theirs too was suffocating.
I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don't know, but I'm almost there. I hear my friends calling.
When faced with people who have very limited conversational skills and no apparent desire to cultivate any it's always easier to simply go along.
Now I know what it is like to feel like a total idiot.
I nodded with genuine synthetic sympathy.
I was never more alive than when the Dark Passenger was driving.
I waved to everybody. Some of them even waved back. They knew me, had seen me go by before, always cheerful, a big hello for everybody. He was such a nice man. Very friendly. I can’t believe he did those horrible things . . .
Money to me had always been merely something the sheep used to show each other how wonderful they were.
And what did you do last night, Dexter? Oh, I played with my dolls while a friend chopped up my sister.
No big deal. We all have blood in us, the trick is keeping it inside.
I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.
We can't always do what we think we have to do.
So when there's nothing else you can do, you wait... No matter what... pressure... you might feel.
I was filled with dread at the thought my mind had skipped town and left me behind to pay the rent." --Dexter
It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.
Why bother inflicting enormous pain on yourself when sooner or later Life would certainly get around to doing it for you?
I looked around the store and what I saw was not very encouraging.
There were rows and rows of violent toys...aisle after aisle of training devices for recreational slaughter. No wonder our world was such a mean and violent place...if we teach children that killing is fun, can we really be surprised if now and then someone is smart enough to learn?
You're driving me NORMAL!
Feeling - what authentic human fun!
And so as much as I can, I care about her, dear Deborah.
It's probably not love, but I would rather she were happy.