Marcia Clark Quotes

This steak wouldn't have tasted nearly as good if I'd been lying dead at the bottom of a ravine. I lifted my martini and drank to that.

I fell asleep praying that Donald Trump would announce he was planning to become a woman.

Just as all politics is local, all good history is personal.

Think Pickelman's our guy?' 'Maybe. Or maybe he knows who is. Or maybe he's guilty of something else.' 'Glad you could narrow it down,' Bailey replied. 'Always here for ya.

Misery spreads out from a murder in ripples, blighting everything it touches.

Even a clock that's broken is right twice a day.

I’d seen all the ingredients; I’d just refused to see what they made. So

What can I do for you, Detective?' he said cheerily, smiling and nodding at Bailey. What was I, chopped liver? I had a badge too. Maybe I should've shown it to him. Maybe I should've shown him my gun too.

I had to admit, my little Accord hadn't looked all that great next to the Benzes and Rolls in that garage to begin with, but now that it'd been turned into a mobile tribute to the artistic rendering of Lil' Loco, it stuck out like a Cracker Jack ring in a a Tiffany display.

name.

Slide by with a lie; don’t admit it till you quit it. It

GET THE ASSHOLE WHO DID THIS! #justiceforchloe   OMG I LOVED HER!! #tragedy   MY FAVORITE ON DARK CORNERS! NOOOOO! #chloeforever

I raised an eyebrow. Since when did they need real news to justify the slugfest? Barry gave me a knowing smile behind the assistant’s back as he ducked into his studio.

Talking to my mother was about as much fun as chewing a ball of tinfoil with a mouthful of fillings.

Denial is sometimes the only comfort you can offer yourself. Because once you let yourself feel, the misery is endless.

Besides, it’s possible he’s not guilty.” I laughed so hard I had to put down my fries. I

CAR TAPE. October 1994. I’d like to see us abolish the jury system. Why leave the fate of our nation in the hands of these moon rocks?

Three—police jargon for a sirens-on emergency.

that disappearing knife.” After Alex and Michelle left, I pulled up all the photos that showed Tiegan’s bookcase and enlarged them so I could examine every inch. Something

It’s the Law of Douche Bags. Douche bags walk away with enough holes in them to look like a colander, while good guys go down for the count with one random punch to the head. Sheri—one

Work offers a defensible escape from a private life on the skids. Working myself to the point of exhaustion left me feeling purified. Exhilarated. I think it also gave me a sense that I was cheating mortality.

What? What's your issue now?' I asked, annoyed. 'Jus' wonderin' what's it like for Droopy. This place is intense and he's jus' a lil' guy, you know?' Of all the bangers in the world, I had to get Mr. Sensitive. Droopy, I assumed, was Hector Amaya's gang moniker. I wondered why they were always so unflattering. Me, I would've at least picked something like Foxy or Jet. Which, I supposed, explained in part why I wasn't gang material.

By virtue of his celebrity, he would be coddled by worshipful cops, pumped up by star-fucking attorneys, indulged by a spineless judge, and adored by jurors every bit as addled by racial hatred as their counterparts on the Rodney King jury. O. J. Simpson slaughtered two innocent people, and he walked free—right past the most massive and compelling body of physical evidence ever assembled against a criminal defendant. I am not bitter. I am angry.

The backlash against feminism in the 1990's is the historical and cultural context in which I now perceive Carolyn's story. Women who spoke up about workplace inequality or domestic abuse were dismissed as histronic troublemakers. The new twenty-four-hour tabloid media - which skewered Anita Hill, reduced Marcia Clark to a "lawyerette," and blamed Monica Lewinsky for her affair with President Clinton - leveled unprecedented vitriol at Carolyn. It was all too easy to cast this unknown figure, who had no public profile until she met John, as a wild banshee, a vapid fashionista, or an undeserving harpy.

I heard Chloe Monahan’s voice on the television and the shock of it made me jerk my head toward the screen again—but it was just a clip from her interview on Ellen. Bonnie put her hands on her hips and fixed me with a death ray. “Once more, Brinkman, and I’ll let you go out there looking like a raccoon in drag.

As a general rule, I hate parties. Actually, hate isn't a strong enough word. I detest them. I suck at small talk, and I'm not a "people person".

Their children had been killed in a school bus accident. Or, more likely, a school shooting.

But I have a deep and abiding aversion to financial investments of any kind. It’s not based on anything as intelligent as research or experience. It’s just that I don’t trust anyone. To me, giving someone else money to invest is just an invitation to rip me off. Not a particularly sophisticated attitude, but I am who I am.

For a prosecutor, it’s easy to become annoyed at a criminal justice system that seems to be stacked so ridiculously in favor of defendants. But you have to have been on the downside looking up at the face of the law before you realize how thin those defenses really are. Once you’ve been there, you can’t honestly begrudge a defendant any help he can muster.

boyfriend

...it always felt weird to me to walk into the house of a stranger. But there's also a voyeuristic sense of fascination: What a person chooses to surround himself with tells you a lot about him.

Give us either bright sun or pouring rain—the in-between stuff depresses me.

Counsel’s sarcasm is inappropriate.

one here can tell me anything.” Eric put his hands in his pockets, then looked away. “What? What?

parents were dead. We hadn’t found his birth parents yet. He hadn’t gone to college, his high school records were archived somewhere—we had unis working on it—and his elementary school

reporters are still floating around.” “We’ll meet you in the lobby,” I said. When Michael

I shook my head.

you ever let me find you on a guest floor again! Got it?” More murmuring. Then Gregor shouted, “Move faster!” A moment later there was a knock at the door. “Rachel? It’s me. They’re gone.” I opened the door. Gregor’s solid rectangular frame filled the doorway. It was a reassuring sight. “Thank you so much. Those two just ambushed me.” Now, in hindsight, I realized there’d been no real danger, and I felt sheepish. “Sorry to sound the alarm like that. I guess I overreacted.” “Please, you were more than justified. No apology necessary. Are you okay?” “I’m fine, Gregor. Thank you again.” “I’ll put extra security on your hallway from now on. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner—” “Maybe because you were thinking no one would be sleazy enough to hit me up where I live?

But please, whatever you decide to do to this douche bag, make sure it hurts.

of the country was likely to know that Pollock was a famous abstract artist—but apparently

results—was to get into Otis’s computer, if he had one. But for that, we’d need a search warrant. I looked

But now I’m starting to think we should dismiss the murder counts.

her family.” “And how long have you been a criminalist for the Scientific Investigation Division here in Los Angeles?” “Four years.” Gelfer had calmed down now and seemed

whom were off-duty cops—said they were throwing gang signs out the car window.” I flicked at a bread crumb. “Did they happen to recognize the signs?” “They’re working

I think what touched me most was a letter sent by a convent of Dominican nuns. This wonderful missive urged courage and fortitude; it was sort of the Dominican version of “Go, girlfriend.

Fuhrman was a big deal only because the defense required a bogeyman to distract the jury from the devastating evidence against their client. Almost

But you have to have been on the downside looking up at the face of the law before you realize how thin those defenses really are. Once you’ve been there, you can’t honestly begrudge a defendant any help he can muster. That

If popular opinion and celebrity and fame and the politically correct view is going to be what really sways the jury, if the jury will disregard the law, disregard the evidence, and everyone expects it to happen, then why bother? Have

people should be able to see our justice system at work, not least because individual cases can bring to light widespread social problems. Media

Every year, 4,744,000 women in the United States are physically assaulted by their partners.

Every day, three women are murdered by their male partners.

Boys who see their fathers beat their mothers will likely grow up to be men who beat their wives.

No civil servant takes a window for granted.

I hated myself for being so weak. I seemed to have no real personality of my own. Gaby was the mirror in which I saw myself.

It was one of those rare occasions when my low expectations of others went unfulfilled.

According to the telephone poll, a full 40 percent of black women felt that the use of physical force was appropriate in a marriage. And black women especially could not abide Marcia Clark.

But there’s a small percentage who are nothing but born predators. And for them, no amount of good parenting, quality schooling, or therapy sessions will ever make a bit of difference.

When I walk into court, I’m not concerned about justice, the rule of law, or making sure it’s a fair fight. Fuck fair. I’m there to protect my client. That’s where my duty begins and ends. But

glanced at him, I saw he had a mischievous grin. The

Justice, like the will of God, doesn’t always manifest itself on the spur of the moment. It doesn’t always come when you think it should. You just gotta wait it out. And

who, during the months since the criminal verdict, have rewritten history.

We lost because American justice is distorted by race. We lost because American justice is corrupted by celebrity.

the next time you hear some CEO on a soapbox complaining about how the Simpson jurors couldn’t cut it, please remind him that you get the justice you pay for. At

The cameras in the Simpson courtroom not only encouraged lawyers to preen for the lens and prolong the life of every goddamned motion to increase their time on the air, it reduced a criminal trial to the status of a sporting event.

Being attractive matters everywhere—getting jobs, getting laid, and yes, getting acquitted by a jury of your peers. No one can resist a pretty face. As long as it’s not too pretty. Back

This doesn’t mean anything about the real world and the way justice is dispensed. Or the way it should be dispensed. It won’t always be this way. It may never be this way again. Ahead

Twice as many women were murdered by current or former male partners between 2001 and 2012 as there were troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Because that’s what it all comes down to. Just as all politics is local, all good history is personal.

Search warrant or no, it always felt weird to me to walk into the house of a stranger. But there’s also a voyeuristic fascination: what a person chooses to surround himself with tells you a lot about him.

But of one thing I was certain. I couldn’t undo four hundred years of social injustice with a pretty dress and a soft voice.

I fell asleep praying that Donald Trump would announce he was planning to become a woman. Surprisingly,

about her affair with Cassie. That meant Tiegan had no way of knowing Cassie had told me about it. Would Tiegan admit it? And what would she say about the blood in the trunk of her car?

There was nothing on my calendar to indicate that this would be anything other than a short-skirt day. No need for a “believe me” suit.

Even our phone calls were like crawling naked across a field of broken glass.

I wish that one of us had been endowed with some mystical gift of prescience that would have warned us off this train wreck. But you make your decision with the best information you have at the time.

How often in life do you get to see the right foot meet the right ass at kicking time?

Sometimes things are less than they seem.

I’m completely on board with fashion as an expression of individuality, but T’Chia seemed to be expressing several individuals.

I gazed out the window and wished for the thousandth time that rape were punishable by penis removal… with a rusty knife.

An ax killing in itself is rare—but an ax killing by a woman is rarer than a Republican at an NPR fund-raiser.

He’s not ‘people,’ Melia. He’s a reporter.

But how can you expect a clown to stop a circus? Bill

paying any unnecessary

women hated her, and the men saw her as the girl they could never get. Dale

language and attitude

some trace and leaves some trace of himself—or herself—at any location visited. So

It’s the Law of Douche Bags. Douche bags walk away with enough holes in them to look like a colander, while good guys go down for the count with one random punch to the head.

My mother was a narcissist who’d never wanted me and didn’t even particularly like, let alone love, me.

I felt lighter. It was as though I’d cut the rope around my neck that’d been tied to a barge of misery. A barge I’d been dragging around my whole life.

The furniture was average, nondescript—somewhere between high-end and yard-sale

For some reason, no matter how much I hate a book, I can never manage to just stop reading—I have to see it through to the bitter end.

Ten minutes later, Alex’s spare phone gave a beep. We all turned to look at it. I grabbed the phone and read the message aloud. “‘You’re most welcome, Aubrey. Keep sharing!’” Aubrey. That was such a distinctive name. “I know I’ve heard that name before, I just can’t remember where or how. Sound familiar to you guys?” They both shook their heads. I started pacing again as I tried to squeeze my brain for the memory. Alex sat down at his computer. He started to read off the screen. “Aubrey, Aubrey . . . wow, lots of girls named Aubrey.” Michelle watched me. “Was it during this case?” I nodded. “Maybe you heard it in court?” I shook my head. “No, I know I didn’t hear it in court.” I might not remember my own phone number, but I never forgot what anyone said in court. “Did it have something to do with this case?” Michelle asked. I stopped and stared at the floor. “No, I don’t think so.” Alex read from the screen again. “Aubrey Plaza, Allison Aubrey, there’s a town in France.” I stared at him. “You’re not helping, you know.” He glanced up. “Sorry.” But he kept scanning the monitor. “What about outside court?” Michelle asked. “I mean, when you were talking to reporters?” Something tickled the back of my brain. I had that frustrating feeling that it was hovering just out of reach. I tried to grasp it. And failed. “Damn it!” “Okay, let it go,” Michelle said. “You can’t force it. Talk about something else.” But I couldn’t. I kept pacing. Alex picked up their empty bowls. “That guy Marc was a lot smaller than this Aubrey dude. I thought models were supposed to be buff.” I’d noticed that, too. “At least more buff than Marc was. But as I recall, Golden said the agency was trying to get him to buff up.” Alex

Hate is not an emotion that a prosecutor can afford. Hate clouds your thinking and distorts your priorities.

Marcia had sent her a copy of a Unitarian sermon on fallout shelters that made her weep. “I’d really be a church-goer if I was back in Wellesley or America—the Unitarian church is my church. How I miss it!!! There is just no choice here.”102