Jeff Lindsay (writer)

Jeff Lindsay is the pen name of American crime novelist Jeffry P. Freundlich (born July 14, 1952), best known for his novels about sociopathic vigilante Dexter Morgan that formed the basis of the television series Dexter.

Darkly Dreaming Dexter (2004)

 * I'm a very neat monster.
 * Chapter 1.


 * Killing makes me feel good.
 * Chapter 2.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 2.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 2.


 * I had killed our careful relationship by driving my tongue through its heart and pushing it off a cliff.
 * Chapter 2.


 * Anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them.
 * Chapter 3.


 * Incompetence is rewarded more often than not.
 * Chapter 3.


 * Me, feeling. What a concept.
 * Chapter 4.


 * I think people understand things different when they get older. It’s not a question of getting soft, or seeing things in the gray areas instead of black and white. I really believe I’m just understanding things different. Better.
 * Chapter 4.


 * I poked at the white paper bag. There was nothing left inside. Just like me: a clean crisp outside and nothing at all on the inside.
 * Chapter 5.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 5.


 * Did I say imaginary? Well yes. Human men are not like that.
 * Chapter 6.


 * I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other. A great spectator sport.
 * Chapter 6.


 * It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is
 * Chapter 6.


 * Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me.
 * Chapter 7.


 * I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.
 * Chapter 10.


 * After a long moment I closed the freezer door. I wanted to lie down and press my cheek against the cool linoleum. Instead I reached out with my little finger and flipped the Barbie's head. It went thack thack against the door. I flipped it again. Thack thack. Whee. I had a new hobby.
 * Chapter 13.


 * Why do so many people start their messages with, "It's me"? Of course it is you. We all know that. But who the hell ARE you?
 * Chapter 13.


 * I had killed our careful relationship by driving my tongue through its heart and pushing it off a cliff.
 * Chapter 13.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 15.


 * Another beautiful Miami day. Mutilated corpses with a chance of afternoon showers. I got dressed and went to work.
 * Chapter 17.


 * Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?
 * Chapter 17.


 * And here I always thought morality was useless
 * Chapter 17.


 * Life's only obligation, afterall, was to be interesting.
 * Chapter 18.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 18.


 * I did not like this feeling of having feelings.
 * Chapter 19.


 * Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?
 * Chapter 19.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 22.


 * 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?
 * Chapter 23.


 * The mind picks some very bad times to take a walk doesn't it?
 * Chapter 24.


 * And what did you do last night, Dexter? Oh, I played with my dolls while a friend chopped up my sister.
 * Chapter 24.


 * I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don't know, but I'm almost there. I hear my friends calling.
 * Chapter 25.


 * 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.
 * Chapter 25.