I always thought there were like seven continents.” Crazzee was kind of an expert in geography. One of her ex-boyfriends had a large map of the world above his bed.

He thought he vomited out his soul. If ghosts were made of ectoplasm and ghosts were basically souls without bodies, then it was perfectly logical that the green mess all over the ground was his ectoplasmic essence.

You had a bad day once, am I right? I know I am.
I can tell. You had a bad day and everything changed.
Why else would you dress up like a flying rat?

Il giorno in cui sono morto era un giovedì. Per forza: il giovedì non mi è mai piaciuto. Non era previsto che morissi. Mi sono perso la scuola. Anche se, stranamente, quel giorno ci sarei voluto andare. Avrei fatto qualsiasi cosa. Tranne morire.

Don't live with writers. Writers are bastards.

Jazz hadn't given her many details of exactly what life in the Dent house had been like, but he'd told her enough that she knew it wasn't hearts and flowers. Well, except for the occasional heart cut from a chest. And the kind of flowers you send to funerals.