Captain Hook Quotes

Smee, you are a supreme idjit." "Aye, Cap'n.

Was this, I wondered, what it felt like to be a grown-up? Did you always feel the weight of things on you, your cares pressing you down like a burden you could never shake? No wonder Peter could fly. He had no worries to weight him to the earth.

I would rather receive a Pap smear from Captain Hook than venture out on New Year's Eve.

It’s not such a wonderful thing, to be young,” I said. “It’s heartless, and selfish.” “But, oh, so free,” Nod said sadly. “So free when you have no worries or cares.

All children grow up, or they die, or both. All children, except one.

To dream of afar, to chase a star, to believe in Captain Hook. To dance with bears and have no cares, this is the magic of a book.

I shook my head, folding my arms around my waist. He was wrong; he was the one offering fairy dust, Peter Pan offering to carry me off to the Neverland of soulfinders and happily ever after. But he was too late. Last night i had to grew up and I now knew that such dreams did not exist; real life was more like living with Captain Hook's mercenary pirates than playing happy families in a treehouse

Bre said there's only one real adventure in this world. Love. It's finding the one person who makes you want to be better than you are.

They all thought they were special, but only I was. I was first and none of them could take that from me. I was first and best and last and always.

The man is not wholly evil – he has a Thesaurus in his cabin.” (Captain Hook as described by J. M. Barrie in Peter Pan)

Because Peter promised them adventures and happiness and then took them away to the island where they died. They weren’t forever young, unless dying when you were young kept you that way for always.

If I am a villain, it's because Peter made me one, because Peter needs to be the shining sun that all the world turns around. Peter needed to be a hero, so somebody needed to be a villain.

And here was Captain Fantastic, a mere human with not a single spark of power in him and not a lick of sense, either. The fact that she had ever hooked up with him, even for a few months, would keep her humble forever.

It's the injustice that I hate, more than anything," he'd said to Smee one night, his eyes red and glassy, slurring his words, his head lolling as he tried to focus. He'd vomited, and then promptly passed out on a bush. "I hate the world that does not work out fair.

We were still children, for all that we thought we weren’t. We were in that in-between place, the twilight between childish things and grown-up things.

Not all who are lost are lost forever.

Don't be afraid to grow up, Peter. It's only a trap if you forget how to fly.

And it made me love him a little less, and the memory of that smile hurt deep down in the place where I kept all my secrets and my sorrows.

There’s nothing worse than having a fit and no one giving you the proper attention for it.

when you’re sitting on a plane 40, 000 feet up in the air, looking out the window, dreaming of your future and how bright it appears to be, or maybe just watching the drops of rain being pushed into different designs from the force of air at 400 mph, well, life feels good. it feels safe, your seat belt is on and your feet are up. then the oxygen masks fall, the plane jumps, snaps and jolts. people start to scream, babies burst out crying, people start praying all in time to the overhead announcement that we’re gonna crash. right then, as your life flashes before your eyes, you hear yourself say, “god, if you get me outta this one, i’ll stop [insert lie here] forever.” right then the nose of the plane pulls up and the captain says, “wow, that was a close one, folks. we’re ok, we’ll be landing in thirty minutes and we’re all safe and sound, sorry for the scare…” that’s how getting hooked on junk is, and when the kick is over you can’t believe you ever got on that plane in the first place. the question is, will you ever fly again?

I hate Peter Pan.

Sometimes at night, when the nightmare clung to me, I wondered if Peter’s assurances that I would never grow up were only assurances that I would die before such a thing happened. I wondered if that were better, to die before I became something withered and grey and not wanted.

Don't insert your hand inside a wolf's mouth - or a lion's, bear's, alligator's or crocodile's mouth, or in a lawn mower, garbage disposal, snowblower or blender - because, if you do, you're not going to have that hand for much longer! Don't believe me? Ask my good friend Captain Hook how he got his name! - Tyr

I only wanted them near me because I loved them. Though, of course, it was because I loved them that Peter had to take them from me.

and every time I saw him in the hall, I couldn’t help but think, There goes Captain Hook,

Memories hold you back; their weight crushes your spirit.

It was Peter’s island, Peter who’d brought us here, and in the back of every boy’s mind was some form of the same thought— He could send me back, if he wanted.

Peter had just forgotten, the way that Peter did forget about anything that wasn’t right in front of him at the moment.

Yes, because it’s obviously better if you beat each other to death with rocks instead of stabbing each other like civilized human beings,” Sal muttered, looking away.

I didn’t believe him at first, about the island, though.” “I didn’t either,”I said. “I don’t know that anyone does. It sounds like a fantastic lie.” “It is a fantastic lie,” Sal said, and her face was very earnest. “This isn’t a wonderful place for boys to play and have adventures and stay young for always. It’s a killing place, and we’re all just soldiers in Peter’s war.

Men like you give pirates a bad name,” Captain Auburn Sally said. “You aren’t pirates,” Captain Hook said with a laugh. “You’re just a bunch of little girls with attitude!” “Then I feel sorry for you, Hook,” Auburn Sally said. “Because you and your men are about to get your booty handed to you by a bunch of little girls. Ladies, charge!

Was this, I wondered, what it felt like to be a grown-up? Did you always feel the weight of things on you, your cares pressing you down like a burden you could never shake? No wonder Peter could fly. He had no worries to weight him to earth.

He’d been around the island for a while, and I’m sorry to say that being bashed around in Battle and at raids had done nothing very good for his brains.

My grief couldn`t overhelm me anymore because it was a part of me forever, all the names, all the faces and all the boys that I hadn`t protected from Peter. All the boys and one girl.

Do I get a good-bye kiss too?” said Thorne, stepping in front of Cinder. Scowling, Cinder shoved him away. “Wolf’s not the only one who can throw a right hook around here.” Thorne chuckled and raised a suggestive eyebrow at Iko. The android, still on the floor, shrugged apologetically. “I would love to give you a good-bye kiss, Captain, but that lingering embrace from His Majesty may have fried a few wires, and I’m afraid a kiss from you would melt my central processor.” “Oh, trust me,” said Thorne, winking at her. “It would.

I was suddenly sorry I'd grown, even if it was only a little, and wished I could be similar again and that it was just Peter and me, running and climbing and laughing, back when the island was ours

Was this, too, part of growing up? Was it facing the bad things you’d done as well as the good, and knowing all your mistakes had consequences? Peter made mistakes all the time— he was thoughtless; he hurt people. But it never troubled him, not for a moment. He forgot all about it in an instant. That was being a boy.

His eyes were the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the great seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told he was a raconteur of repute. He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding...

I didn't know how to explain to him that for all that I still looked young, I had been feeling old. The years had passed, so many of them, and they were starting to wear on me. After a while it wasn't fun to always feel like you had to have fun. -Jamie

Though his heart denied it with every fiber of its being, his mind knew that home was no longer an option. And he didn't cry. He didn't fret. He lay there on the earth, realizing and accepting and hardening. That was the night that James Hook began to grow up.

Come on, Jamie, follow me. Follow me and you’ll never grow up!” I took one step, and then another, and then I was inside and the earth seemed to close all around me.

Was this, I wondered, what it felt like to be a grown up? Did you always feel the weight of things on you, your cares pressing you down like a burden you could never shake? -Jamie

It crashed over me all at once, the truth I’d been pretending wasn’t there. I was growing up. I was growing up, and I was so afraid.

Nothing screams serious captain material like hooking up with the coach's daughter in a goddamn storage closet.

Probably look like fucking Captain Hook.

I would rather receive a Pap smear from Captain Hook than venture out in New Year's Eve.

In a word, the handsomest man I have ever seen, though, at the same time, perhaps slightly disgusting. " - Captain Hook at Eton

Hand over the fairy," Peter Pan demanded. The captain couldn't tell if Peter was deliberately taunting him, but he still cringed at the word hand. "Do you know what I wish I could do more than anything else in the world, Peter?" Captain Hook said. "Clap?" Peter Pan guessed. "What?" the captain asked. "No!" "Do a handstand?" "NO!" "Play the piano?" "STOP IT! STOP MAKING APPENDAGE JOKES!" "Why? Is it getting out of hand?" "YOU ARE SO IMMATURE!" "Captain, now is not the time to point the finger." Peter Pan was beside himself with laughter. Captain Hook growled angrily and got back to his point.

And then I was alone, and glad that he was gone. I'd never been glad at Peter's absence before, and something inside me seemed to shift. My legs hurt like fire for a minute, and then it was over, and I distinctly felt that I was taller than I've been a moment before.

The university was safe. It was a kind of never-never land where everybody, even the teachers, could be a part of Peter Pan’s band and never grow up. And there would always be a Nixon or an Agnew to play Captain Hook.

There is a terrible reptilian predator, metaphorically speaking, pursuing you all the time, just like the crocodile with the ticktock of time emanating from the clock he swallowed chasing the tyrannical coward Captain Hook.

It’s not as easy as you’d think, burning a dead creature. Flesh and skin want to cook and crisp and char rather than ignite.

It will always be Peter and me, like it was in the beginning, like it will be in the end. Peter, who took everything from me and gave everything too.

If I'm a villain, it's because Peter made me one, because Peter needs to be the shining sun that all the world turns around. Peter needed to be a hero, so somebody needed to be a villain.

Pex and Chips were closer now, discussing the merits of various fictional characters. 'Captain Hook rocks,' said Pex. 'He would kick Barney's purple butt ten times out of ten.' Chips sighed. 'You're missing the whole point of Barney. It's a values thing. Butt-kicking is not the issue.

Diana accepted the bait, spat out the hook with contempt, and hurried away to the stables to consult with Thomas,

After a while it wasn't fun to always feel like you had to have fun.

it was because I loved them that Peter had to take them from me.

Did he sprout out of the ground like a mushroom?

Sometimes I thought that Peter couldn’t be hurt, and that was why he didn’t bother so much when others were, for he couldn’t understand their pain.

He (Captain Hook) was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding.

The man is not wholly evil – he has a Thesaurus in his cabin.” (Captain Hook as described by J. M. Barrie in Peter Pan)

Excuse me. You may remember eating my father, Captain Hook? I’m here to avenge his death. Farewell, hideous beast.

He was struck by the feeling that they were the only two people alive in the world—that this was something beyond any magic or illusion or story Neverland could conjure. Something real.

If I am a villain, it’s because Peter made me one, because Peter needs to be the shining sun that all the world turns around. Peter needed to be a hero, so somebody needed to be a villain.

Thus defenceless Hook found him. He stood silent at the foot of the tree looking across the chamber at his enemy. Did no feeling of compassion stir his sombre breast? The man was not wholly evil; he loved flowers (I have been told) and sweet music (he was himself no mean performer on the harpsichord); and, let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the scene shook him profoundly.

he is: A vampire A homunculus Big Bird André the Giant Napoleon Obelix (sidekick of Asterix) Doctor Bright The Hulk Alexander The Great Captain Hook Sherlock Holmes Doctor Frankenstein Frankenstein's Monster

In December, James Barrie, who was a great friend of the Llewellyn Davieses, and adored Sylvia and her boys, wrote for them his immortal Peter Pan, and Gerald played the parts of Captain Hook and Mr Darling.

Probably the most violently hated of the weenie songs cited in the survey was “Sometimes When We Touch,” sung in a very emotional manner by Dan Hill, who sounds as though he’s having his prostate examined by Captain Hook.

It liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me.' 'In a way,' said Smee, 'it's a sort of compliment.' 'I want no such compliments,' Hook barked petulantly.

I curse you, Jamie. I curse you to live forever on this island, but as a grown-up. You’ll never be a boy again, but you’ll never grow old and die either. If you’re hurt you’ll always survive. The island won’t let you go, and the island will keep you alive because I say so. And so you’ll never forget me and my curse, I leave my mark on you.” He raised the sword, and then my right hand was gone.

We stay like that for a moment, breathing heavily, savoring the last few seconds before we’re once again Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Sworn enemies. No matter what world we’re in, or how much time has passed, or whether I remember it or not, that will always be true.

Swear... swear by the pirates' code!" Hook looked exasperated. Wendy put her hands on her hips. She knew about boys trying to sneak out of promises. She had two younger brothers. You had to be very specific with your orders and wishes, or they were as wily and untrustworthy as evil genies. And what was a pirate, really, but a boy grown, with a real sword and a mustache? "Swear it," she repeated. She could have sworn she heard muffled laughter from behind him on the deck. Hook sighed. All right, all right. I swear on the pirates' code: I, Captain Hook, promise that in return for Peter Pan's shadow I shall grant Wendy Darling passage to Never Land and home- when circumstances allow it.

I swallowed the urge to sigh. Sometimes it can be easy to forget that I don’t really work with anyone my own age. Except on the rare occasions where Joey or Danika decide to call me up for a chat, I am the lone adult in a sea of children, like Captain Hook finally taking full responsibility for the Lost Boys after getting rid of that loser Pan.

Do you know what I wish I could do more than anything else in the world, Peter?” Captain Hook asked. “Clap?” Peter Pan guessed. “What?” the captain asked. “No!” “Do a handstand?” “NO!” “Play the piano?” “STOP IT! STOP MAKING APPENDAGE JOKES!” “Why? Is it getting out of hand?” “YOU ARE SO IMMATURE!” “Captain, now is not the time to point the finger.” Peter

I am Captain James Hook! I am no victim; I create them! I do not have bad dreams; I inspire them!

One pirate captain, in his cups, vowed: “If we swing our grappling hooks onto the clouds and attack Heaven itself, I’d aim my first shot at God.

If you weren't happy, then you could go to the pirates.

A kiss can be made of magic too. I’d never known that.

Was this, I wondered, what it felt like to be a grown-up? Did you always feel the weight of things on you, your cares pressing you down like a burden you could never shake?

Charlie trailed behind me, a little yellow-feathered duckling, and he patted my shoulder when I put Del in the ground and wept like I would never stop.

It wasn’t such a terrible thing, then, growing up.

It will always be Peter and me, like it was in the beginning, like it will be in the end. Peter, who took everything from me and gave everything too. Peter, who loved me best of everyone except himself. He tells the new boys I am a villain, and they call me Captain Hook. If I am a villain, it’s because Peter made me one, because Peter needs to be the shining sun that all the world turns around. Peter needed to be a hero, so somebody needed to be a villain. The anger that I carried with me all the days of my childhood is for only one person now, and if I ever catch him again he’ll be sorry. I know I can find a way. He’s given me so much time, all the time in the world, and there must be a way. Someday. Someday, he’ll be sorry he crossed me. When I hear him laughing, out there in the sky and in the night, and that laugh burns me deep down in my heart, I know I’ll find a way to make him sorry. I will make him so sorry. I hate Peter Pan.

Part of me was always silently raging, always looking for blood to spill. I never knew why I felt that way, but it made me merciless. It made it easy for me to cut and to hurt, to arrogantly slice pirates’ hands from their wrists so I could leave my mark.

When he'd smiled at me and told me we would have adventures, I thought we would be friends always, that it would just be Peter and me, like brothers. But now I saw - and it was so strange that after all this time I finally did see - that I wasn't enough for him, had never been enough. I didn't mean anything to him, and not even I was special if he could keep a secret like this. And it made me love him a little less, and the memory of that smile hurt deep down in the place where I kept all my secrets and sorrows.

Here is a man,” said the Captain, addressing himself to his fair auditors, and indicating the commander with his outstretched hook, “that has fell down more than any man alive; that has had more accidents happen to his own self than the Seamen’s Hospital to all hands; that took as many spars and bars and bolts about the outside of his head when he was young, as you’d want a order for on Chathamyard* to build a pleasure-yacht with; and yet that got his opinions in that way, it’s my belief, for there an’t nothing like ’em afloat or ashore.

Just a boy, Just a child, In a place where no one grows up; Young bodies with old minds, Dream and nightmare reign side by side, In a place where no one grows up; A time when darkness shrouded the sun, Vengeance birthed from sea and blood, Many had fallen in the war never won, In a place where no one grows up; When the boy’s heart grieved he became more of a man, When the pirate’s heart hardened with the loss of his hand, One dreadful night everything changed and feuds began, Now the ghosts from their mistakes are tied to this land, In a place where no one grows up; Just a boy, just a child, in appearance it’s true, But children can carry terrible burdens too, For sometimes stopping time doesn’t mean forever youth, Living, forgetting, loving, seething, bearing an all too heavy truth; Just a boy, Just a child, In a place where no one grows up.

Frances, smiling, folded the note and returned it to the captain's pocket. She occasionally in her life found herself loving men not in spite of but for their stupidity. Suavity was never more than playacting, she knew this, and it endeared them to her that they themselves were unaware of their transparency. She hung her shoes from her hooked fingers, walking barefoot along the dim, carpeted halls to her suite. All were asleep and it was so quiet, and she felt youthful and glad. Small Frank was up, waiting on the bed. His eyes narrowed as she entered. "Spare me," she said. "You haven't got a leg to stand on." She moved to the bathroom to draw herself a bath.

Hook's fingers always twitched when he spoke of Pan. It turned him dark and antsy, and his jaw clenched and unclenched. It was an old grudge, and Smee still didn't understand where it had begun. All he knew was that Hook was stuck on it: he sometimes repeated a conversation over and over again, that he imagined he was having with Peter.

to make the sail set properly you must pull the boom down. That’ll take those cross wrinkles out.” “Is that what those blocks (pulleys) are for hooked to a ring in the kelson close to where the mast is stepped? But they are all muddled up.” “Isn’t there another ring under the boom, close to the mast?” asked Queen Elizabeth. “Got it,” said Captain John. “One block hooks to the ring under the boom, and one to the ring in the bottom of the boat, then it’s as easy as anything to haul the boom down. How’s that?” “The crinkles in the sail go up and down now, and not across,” said Mate Susan. “That’s right,” said Queen Elizabeth. “The wind will flatten them out as soon as we start sailing.

Often, when tempted to peek into the drawer too early, Wendy could assuage her longing by pulling out the tiny notebook she always kept with her. It had a very slim blue pencil that perfectly fit down the spine, and was nearly full of her neat, enthusiastic words. Well-thumbed pages were titled with things like "Peter Pan and the Pirates and the Unexpected Zeppelin" or "Peter Pan and Tiger Lily versus the Cyclops of the Cerulean Sea." And she had illustrated "Captain Hook Is Taught A Timely Lesson by Peter Pan" with a little picture of a clock she had carefully copied from the mantel, as well as the eyes and nostrils of a fierce crocodile- the rest of whose body she had no hope of depicting accurately, and thus chose to submerge.

Once again, it's a beautiful day to be a pirate," Auburn Sally said to her crew. "Ladies, lower the sales!" The twins looked up, expecting the sails above them to comedown and fill with the ocean air. Instead, Siren Sue peeked out of the crow's nest with a treasure chest full of scarves, jewelry, hooks, and weapons. The other pirates gathered below her with hands full of gold coins. "You heard the captain - time to lower the sales!" Siren Sue announced. "For a limited time, everything is half off!" Scarves are two coins, earring are four coins, necklaces are six coins, and the rifles are eight coins! Get your accessories while the sales are low!" Siren Sue sold off the items to the pirates below until there was nothing left in her chest. The women ogled their new purchases and showed them off to one another. It absolutely baffled Alex, and when she glanced at Conner, he looked just as confused as she did. "I don't understand what's happening," he said. "I never wrote that." "Did you mean to write lower the sails?" Like the normal sails on a ship?" Alex said. "Oops," Conner said. "I must have spelled it wrong." To his relief, once the sales were over, the pirates lowered the sails, too.

You’ve always been the best of us, Jamie,” Nod said, and his voice cracked. “Me and Fog, we always looked up to you. We always wanted to be just like you, only we never were.” If he was crying I didn’t want to see. I only wanted to get to the beach. The night was spinning on and Peter could have found them by now. “I wasn’t as good as you think,” I said. “You kept us alive. You looked after us. We all knew it, even if we didn’t say so. We knew it made Peter jealous.” “Peter’s not jealous of me,” I said. “Only of anyone that takes me away from him.” “He is,” Nod insisted. “He knows no one will ever love him the way we all loved you.” My throat felt clogged suddenly. I cleared it noisily, but found I couldn’t say anything. What could I possibly say? “We all loved you, and so we loved Peter too, because you did. But when you stopped, so did the rest of us. You always made us see him through your eyes.

I’d killed more pirates than I could remember, and for longer than I could remember. The pirates hated Peter but they hated me more, for I was a plague to them, a plague that cut away their best and youngest mates. No older pirate was quick enough to face me, so they sent their bright things to try to take me. But no bright young man, for all that he has the strength of a man, was as fast as a twelve-year-old boy. And I had experience on myside, though I did not look it.

Ink runs in their veins, immortal ink, the ink of song and story.” It was the voice of Andreus. “Ink can be destroyed,” cried Black, “and men who are made of ink. Name me their names!” They came so swiftly from the skies Andreus couldn’t name them all, streaming out of lore and legend, streaming out of song and story, each phantom flaunting like a flag his own especial glory: Lancelot and Ivanhoe, Athos, Porthos, Cyrano, Roland, Rob Roy, Romeo; Donalbane of Birnam Wood, Robinson Crusoe and Robin Hood; the moody Doones of Lorna Doone, Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone; out of near and ancient tomes, Banquo’s ghost and Sherlock Holmes; Lochinvar, Lothario, Horatius, and Horatio; and there were other figures, too, darker, coming from the blue, Shakespeare’s Shylock, Billy Bones, Quasimodo, Conrad’s Jones, Ichabod and Captain Hook—names enough to fill a book. “These wearers of the O, methinks, are indestructible,” wailed Littlejack. “Books can be burned,” croaked Black. “They have a way of rising out of ashes,” said Andreus.

Oh, hush your croaking, Parlay,” chided one of the captains. “It ain’t going to blow.” “If I was a strong man, I couldn’t get up hook and get out fast enough,” the old man retorted in the falsetto of age. “Not if I was a strong man with the taste for wine yet in my mouth. But not you. You’ll all stay, I wouldn’t advise you if I thought you’d go, You can’t drive buzzards away from the carrion. Have another drink, my brave sailor-men. Well, well, what men will dare for a few little oyster drops! There they are, the beauties! Auction to-morrow, at ten sharp.

Combine all of these frustrated expectations with the fact that Captain Hook is Mr. Darling, and you might well consider clawing your way out of this plot. To say that James Barrie acutely depicted the suffocating, limited opportunities for expression available to bourgeois men of his period is like saying that Peter Pan can fly. Mr. Darling demonstrates the multitude of ways in which sending men to offices where they judge their success through the respect and fear they engender in underlings and are rewarded for speaking languages that their wives and children cannot understand is a remarkably bad idea. Is it any surprise that this man who cannot fix his tie and tricks his younger son into taking medicine winds up living in a doghouse? Absolutely not. But how different is Mr. Darling from Hook? Both men steal for a living, one through the august institution of a bank and the other more honestly as a pirate. Both men are disturbed by the wanton lighthearted disregard that children show for their accomplishments. Both men are terrified by what other people think of them and change their behavior accordingly. Both men want children to love them. Both men are locked in a struggle to the death with time and responsibility. Suddenly, the banker and the pirate, though clad very differently, seem to have a lot in common, and those similarities serve as a commentary on the stringent boundaries placed on men by the cultural expectations of the early twentieth century.

Boy Lost Picture a sunset in a small port town by the sea. Two teenaged boys sitting on the docks watching the ships as they fly across the water. One reaches out and takes the other’s hand. In this brush of skin for skin, a thousand unspoken promises erupt between them, and both are determined to keep them. This is what youth is. The sheer belief that you will be able to keep every promise you made to someone else. That you will be able to love someone into a forever when you do not even understand what forever means. An evening spent in the headiness of love, they go back to their respective homes. One boy helps his mother with cooking and cleaning and looking after his little sister. His father is a good man, a sailor who brings home with him meagre wages, but a heart full of love and a quicksilver tongue that tells stories of faraway lands to enthral them all. But this boy, despite his blessings, is not happy. He may have been blessed with a loving family, but that faraway look is made of unrest and wanderlust, something about him says fae, changeling, wearing the skin of a boy who was always destined to fly, to leave.   The other boy returns home to a father who drinks and a mother who works so hard that she is never there. He is the unwanted creature in this home, a beating waiting for him at every corner. His father’s temper is a beast so powerful that a boy made of paper bones barely held together cannot fight him. He hides in his room. He lives for a boy at sunset, hope made into a human being. Now picture this. This boy of paper bones alone at the docks the next sunset. And this boy alone on the docks again on a rainy day. And this boy alone on the docks every day after, waiting for someone who promised him forevers he never intended to keep. This boy becoming a man, a heart wounded so young in youth that it never quite healed right. Imagine him becoming a sailor, searching land after land for a boy he once loved, thinking he was hurt, or stolen, just needing to know what happened to him. Now see him finally finding out that the boy he loved in his boyhood ran away to a magical land where he never grew up. That without a second glance, he just forgot every promise of forever. Imagine his rage, that ancient pain turning to a terrible anger and escaping from the forgotten attic of his mangled heart. Think of what happens when immense love turns into immense hate. An anger so intense it cannot be controlled. What he would give up to avenge the boy he once was, paper-boned, standing on the docks, broken without a single person to love him, simply all alone. A hand is a small price to pay for a magical ship that will take him to Neverland, a place that lives on a star. Becoming a villain called Captain Hook is a small exchange to show Peter Pan that you cannot throw away love and think you will get away unscarred.

Gray burst into the galley. “Miss Turner is not eating.” The cramped, boxed-in nature of the space, the oppressive heat-it seemed an appropriate place to take this irrational surge of resentment. If only his emotion could dissipate through the ventilation slats as quickly as steam. “And good morning to you, too.” Gabriel wiped his hands on his apron without glancing up. “She’s not eating,” Gray repeated evenly. “She’s wasting away.” He didn’t even realize his knuckled cracked. He flexed his fingers impatiently. “Wasting away?” Gabriel’s face split in a grin as he picked up a mallet and attacked a hunk of salted pork. “Now what makes you say that?” “Her dress no longer fits properly. The neckline of her bodice is too loose.” Gabriel stopped pounding and looked up, meeting Gray’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered the galley. The mocking arch of the old man’s eyebrows had Gray clenching his teeth. They stared at each other for a second. Then Gray blew out his breath and looked away, and Gabriel broke into peals of laughter. “Never thought I’d live to see the day,” the old cook finally said, “when you would complain that a beautiful lady’s bodice was too loose.” “It’s not that she’s a beautiful lady-“ Gabriel looked up sharply. “It’s not merely that she’s a beautiful lady,” Gray amended. “She’s a passenger, and I have a duty to look out for her welfare.” “Wouldn’t that be the captain’s duty?” Gray narrowed his eyes. “And I know my duty well enough,” Gabriel continued. “It’s not as though I’m denying her food, now is it? I’m thinking Miss Turner just isn’t accustomed to the rough living aboard a ship. Used to finer fare, that one.” Gray scowled at the hunk of cured pork under Gabriel’s mallet and the shriveled, sprouted potatoes rolling back and forth with each tilt of the ship. “Is this the noon meal?” “This, and biscuit.” “I’ll order the men to trawl for a fish.” “Wouldn’t that be the captain’s duty?” Gabriel’s tone was sly. Gray wasn’t sure whether the plume of steam swirling through the galley originated for the stove or his ears. He didn’t care for Gabriel’s flippant tone. Neither did he care for the possibility of Miss Turner’s lush curves disappearing when he’d never had any chance to appreciate them. Frustrated beyond all reason, Gray turned to leave, wrenching open the galley door with such force, the hinges creaked in protest. He took a deep breath to compose himself, resolving not to slam the door shut behind him. Gabriel stopped pounding. “Sit down, Gray. Rest your bones.” With another rough sigh, Gray complied. He backed up two paces, slung himself onto a stool, and watched as the cook grabbed a tin cup from a hook on the wall and filled it, drawing a dipper of liquid from a small leather bucket. Then Gabriel set the cup on the table before him. Milk. Gabriel stared it. “For God’s sake, Gabriel. I’m not six years old anymore.” The old man raised his eyebrows. “Well, seeing as how you haven’t outgrown a visit to the kitchen when you’re in a sulk, I thought maybe you’d have a taste for milk yet, too. You did buy the goats.

a serious contender for my book of year. I can't believe I only discovered Chris Carter a year ago and I now consider him to be one of my favourite crime authors of all time. For that reason this is a difficult review to write because I really want to show just how fantastic this book is. It's a huge departure from what we are used to from Chris, this book is very different from the books that came before. That said it could not have been more successful in my opinion. After five books of Hunter trying to capture a serial killer it makes sense to shake things up a bit and Chris has done that in best possible way. By allowing us to get inside the head of one of the most evil characters I've ever read about. It is also the first book based on real facts and events from Chris's criminal psychology days and that makes it all the more shocking and fascinating. Chris Carter's imagination knows no bounds and I love it. The scenes, the characters, whatever he comes up with is both original and mind blowing and that has never been more so than with this book. I feel like I can't even mention the plot even just a little bit. This is a book that should be read in the same way that I read it: with my heart in my mouth, my eyes unblinking and in a state of complete obliviousness to the world around me while I was well and truly hooked on this book. This is addictive reading at its absolute best and I was devastated when I turned the very last page. Robert Hunter, after the events of the last few books is looking forward to a much needed break in Hawaii. Before he can escape however his Captain calls him to her office. Arriving, Hunter recognises someone - one of the most senior members of the FBI who needs his help. They have in custody one of the strangest individuals they have ever come across, a man who is more machine than human and who for days has uttered not a single word. Until one morning he utters seven: 'I will only speak to Robert Hunter'. The man is Hunter's roommate and best friend from college, Lucien Folter, and found in the boot of his car are two severed and mutilated heads. Lucien cries innocence and Hunter, a man incredibly difficult to read or surprise is played just as much as the reader is by Lucien. There are a million and one things I want to say but I just can't. You really have to discover how this story unfolds for yourself. In this book we learn so much more about Hunter and get inside his head even further than we have before. There's a chapter that almost brought me to tears such is the talent of Chris to connect the reader with Hunter. This is a character like no other and he is now one of my favourite detectives of all time. We go back in time and learn more about Hunter when he was younger, and also when he was in college with Lucien. Lucien is evil. The scenes depicted in this book are some of the most graphic I've ever read and you know what, I loved it. After five books of some of the scariest and goriest scenes I've ever read I wondered whether Chris could come up with something even worse (in a good way), but trust me, he does. This book is horrifying, terrifying and near impossible to put down until you reach its conclusion. I spent my days like a zombie and my nights practically giving myself paper cuts turning the pages. If when reading this book you think you have an idea of where it will go, prepare to be wrong. I've learnt never to underestimate Chris, keeping readers on their toes he takes them on an absolute rollercoaster of a ride with the twistiest of turns and the biggest of drops you will finish this book reeling. I am on a serious book hangover, what book can I read next that can even compare to this? I have no idea but if you are planning on reading An Evil Mind I cannot reccommend it enough. Not only is this probably my book of the year it is probably the best crime fiction book I have ever read. An exaggeration you might say but my opinion is my own and this real