Kenneth Millar (December 13, 1915 – July 11, 1983), who wrote under the pseudonym Ross Macdonald, was an American-Canadian writer of mystery fiction and detective fiction.
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Deep feeling sounded in her voice. I had no doubt that the feeling was partly sincere. Still, there was something unreal about it. I suspected that she'd been playing tricks with her emotions for a long time, until none of them was quite valid.
The delicate sensitivity of a frightened rattlesnake.
The moral beatings that people took from their children, I was thinking, were the hardest to endure and the hardest to escape.
Nothing wrong with Southern California that a rise in the ocean wouldn't cure.
There are certain families whose members should all live in different towns — different states, if possible — and write each other letters once a year.
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You have a secret passion for justice. Why don't you admit it?" "I have a secret passion for mercy. But justice is what keeps happening to people.
I knew how it was with drunks. They ran out of generosity, even for themselves.
When your income passes a certain point you lose touch. All of a sudden the other people look like geeks or gooks, expendables.
An ugly woman with a gun is a terrible thing.
They had jerrybuilt the beaches from San Diego to the Golden Gate, bulldozed super-highways through mountains, cut down a thousand year of redwood growth, and built an urban wilderness in the desert. They couldn't touch the ocean. They poured their sewage into it, but it couldn't be tainted.