Game By Barry Lyga Quotes

Anger was a waste of time and energy. Anger was useless."Anger" was the label given to the emotion that accomplished nothing.

If I think she' hot and it turns out she's a psychopath, then what does that say about me? I'm totally not ready for that kind of therapy.

She screamed. Her screaming was beautiful. But, truth be told he missed the crying.

Yes,” Howie said solemnly. “I can teach you how to be more ‘street’”. “For God’s sake…” “Or is it ‘urban’? I can’t remember. Anyway, I can teach you, grasshopper. Or hip-hopper.

Your words hurt, Jazz. They hurt like cotton balls thrown in my direction.

He didn't dislike New York with the simple diffidence of a small-town kid or the tragic ignorance of a yokel--he hated it with what he hoped was his soul.

Well, of course it was Billy screwing with his mind. That's what Billy did. Dear Old Dad had a PhD in mind screwing. The question was, was it just Billy screwing with his mind?

Jazz felt as though his own life was a mindfield, one he'd lost the map for. One wrong step and he'd lose a foot or leg. or his mind.

Like the games. I love these old games. The simplicity of them. You master them. You play them. You play until you lose. There are no complicated button combos or secret cheat codes or hidden trophies to collect. The achievement lies in lasting as long as you can, until you die. Like life. Last as long as you can. Hold on as long as possible. And there's no shame in losing, because everyone loses. It's just that everyone has a different score. And the scores don't really matter after all. They disappear when you turn the game.

Any man worth having will wait for his woman to be ready. How can I not return the favor?

Ginny Davis—poor, dead Ginny—had lent Connie a set of yoga DVDs that looked like they’d come from the ancient 1990s.

That's what I thought I was. A stalker of stalkers. A predator preying on predators.

Au contraire, mein Freund.

Billy Dent stared in the mirror. He didn't quite recognize himself, but that was nothing new. Billy had almost always seen a stranger in mirrors, ever since childhood. At first he had hated and feared the figure that seemed to pursue him everywhere, stalking him through mirrors and store windows. But eventually Billy came to understand that what he saw in the mirror was what other people saw when they looked at him. Other people somehow did not see the real Billy. They saw something that looked like them. Something that looked human and mortal. Something that looked like a prospect.

Women always cried. It was their last, best weapon. It made boyfriends apologize and husbands fold them in their arms. It made Daddy spend the extra money on the prom dress.

You think you're gonna find your soul. Ever since I've known you, you've been thinkin' that someday you're gonna crack and end up like your daddy. And you're been looking for proof that you won't. What you don't realize is this: the looking is the proof. Trust me when I tell you that Billy Dent never had a moment's doubt in his life about what he was and what he was doing. Your doubt is your soul

They sent spies", Gramma went on, her voice a hush, "and they look like one man, but they can split into two, then four, and so on. I've seen it before. During the war. It's a Communist trick and they taught it to the Democrats so that they could take our guns. I would have fought them off, but they already made the shotgun disappear.

I'm no good at the new games because I rarely play them. I like old things. Old books. Old movies. Old TV shows. [...] Life was more complicated, but it was quieter, I bet. Slower. [...] The distractions then were card catalogs and dust and the smell of old paper and ink. The distractions were deep. I wonder what it would be like to go back in time, to live as long ago as the 1980s, or even further back. To know what was to come.

Like life. Last as long as you can. Hold on as long as possible. And there's no shame in losing, because everyone loses. It's just that everyone has a different score. And the scores don't really matter after all. They disappear when you turn off the game.

I'm no good at the new games because I rarely play them. I like old things. Old books. Old movies. Old TV shows. It's not that life seemed simpler "back then." It's that it was more complicated. [...] Life was more complicated, but it was quieter, I bet. Slower. [...] The distractions then were card catalogs and dust and the smell of old paper and ink. The distractions were deep. I wonder what it would be like to go back in time, to live as long ago as the 1980s, or even further back. To know what was to come.

disguising yourself wasn't just about making yourself look different; it was about making yourself look different from what people were looking for.