“You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road.”

“You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road.”

“The County Jail looked like a tall, forbidding elementary school. Seven stories of dirty brown brick, one hundred years old and now operating at 330 percent of capacity.”

“He restrained himself from another wisecrack, infinitesimally but with great effort attempting to close down his nightclub approach to education; every positive change in his life, every minute increment in character, acquired more or less through shame.”

“Strike said "Huh" again, thinking about betrayal, about how everything and everybody were just so much smoke.”

“His voice was languidly dense, as if he was a little slow on the uptake, but Strike knew that tone came from the man's feeling of complete control.”

“Some day, my son, you are going to learn that the two greatest joys of being a man are beating the hell out of someone and getting the hell beaten out of you, good night.”