Darkly Dreaming Dexter Quotes

Me, feeling. What a concept.

But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.

It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being.
Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters spelled out a single small word: BOO.
The three torsos were carefully arranged below the BOO in a quarter-circle, making a cute little Halloween smile.
What a scamp.

It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is

For the first time I could remember, I felt weak, woozy and stupid— like a human-being. Like a very small and helpless human-being.

I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.

Another dream. Another long-distance call on my phantom party line. No wonder i had steadfastly refused to have dreams for most of my life. So stupid; such pointless, obvious symbols. Totally uncontrollable anxiety soup, hateful, blatant nonsense.

Every major city has a section like this one. If a piebald dwarf with advanced leprosy wants to have sex with a kangaroo and a teenage choir, he'll find his way here and get a room. When he's done he might take the whole gang next door for a cup of Cuban coffee and a medianioche sandwich. Nobody would care, as long as he tipped.

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.

Incompetence is rewarded more often than not.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal. I'm quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake it all. I fake it very well, and the feelings are never there.

The mind picks some very bad times to take a walk doesn't it?

Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me.

Weren't we all crazy in our sleep? 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 our neighbor's children?

Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?