Citati iz knjige „Sharp Objects: A Novel“ autora Gillian Flynn

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jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you,
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
Men love to put things inside women, don’t they?
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
so he sulked off, like all men do when they don’t get their way with women they’ve fooled around with.
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
I wanted to cry at the idea of being able to sleep next to someone without clothes, no worries about what word might slip out from under a sleeve or pantcuff.
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
When I got passed over for a promotion, he suggested I sue for discrimination. I wasn’t discriminated against, I was a mediocre reporter. And sometimes drunk women aren’t raped; they just make stupid choices—and to say we deserve special treatment when we’re drunk because we’re women, to say we need to be looked after, I find offensive.”
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It’s the kind of place that leaves a mark.
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
A multichild household is a pit of petty jealousies
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
Depression to me is urine yellow. Washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпрошлог месеца
It’s impossible to compete with the dead. I wished I could stop trying.
jjochoco
jjochocoje citiraoпре 2 месеца
Wind Gap was unhealthy for me. This home was unhealthy for me.
Nadya Wibowo
Nadya Wibowoje citiraoпре 9 месеци
“Miss, I sell chairs, ergonomic chairs for a living—over the phone. I work out of an office over in Hayti, with two other fellas. I don’t meet anyone. My wife does part-time office work at the grade school. There’s no drama here. Someone just decided to kill our little girl.” He said the last part beleaguredly, as if he’d given in to the idea.

Bob Nash walked to the sliding glass door off the side of the bedroom. It led onto a tiny deck. He opened the door but stayed inside. “Might be a homo did it,” he said. The word choice was actually a euphemism in these parts.

“Why do you say that?
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A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort
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Sometimes when you let people do things to you, you’re really doing it to them
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Ringing of bell, gathering of plates, Gayla circling the table like a decrepit wolf
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Anyone ever tell you you’re overly sensitive, Camille?”

“Not once.”
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He put his hand on my thigh. Not my hand or my shoulder, but my thigh.
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awestruck by the great docteurs
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You’re crazy to think what you’re thinking. You’re crazy to not think it
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girls were sweet and cute and darling, the obligatory cheery revisionism
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You did, I didn’t. We stared at each other, privately cataloguing our power plays
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