He often wondered whether it were possible to be more possessed by desire for any other woman. The fact was that they functioned well together, and they had a connection as addictive as heroin.
Dear Government. . . I'm going to have a serious talk with you if I ever find anyone to talk to.
What an excellent tool the internet is for freaks.
It was completely impossible to box with her. She had only one style, which we called Terminator Mode. She would try to nail her opponent, and it didn’t matter if it was just a warm-up of friendly sparring.
I don't know if I want a steady relationship, but I'm terrified of losing you.
Being a homicide detective ca be the loneliest job in the world. The friends of the victim are upset and in despair, but sooner or later - after weeks or months - they go back to their everyday lives. For the closest family it takes longer, but for the most part, to some degree, they too get over the grieving and despair. Life has to go on; it does go on. But the unsolved murders keep gnawing away and in the end there's only one person left who thinks night and day about the victim: it's the office who is left with the investigation.
History is reticent about women who were common soldiers, who bore arms, belonged to regiments, and took part in battles on the same terms as men, though hardly a war has been waged without women soldiers in the ranks.
There is nothing to talk about" she said. "I'm just a freak that's all.
Cortez looked like someone newly in love, the way only twenty-four-year-olds can look.
He felt that he had to find Salander and hold her close. She would probably bite him if he tried.
It doesn't matter how good the enemy's weapons are. If he can't see you, he can't hit you. Cover, cover, cover. Make sure you're never exposed.
Salander never forgets an injustice, and by nature she was anything but forgiving.
There are no innocents. There are, however, different degrees of responsibility.
Take "no" as an encouragement to redouble his efforts, so it was easier to say "yes" right away.
I'm a fast writer, and crime novels are easy to do. It's much harder to write a 1,000 word article, where everything has to be 100 per cent correct.
[Her] greatest fear, which was so huge and so black that it was of phobic proportions, was that people would laugh at her feelings.
There's always someone willing to believe malicious rumours.
Normally seven minutes of another person's company was enough to give her a headache so she set things up to live as a recluse. She was perfectly content as long as people left her in peace. Unfortunately society was not very smart or understanding.
I believe that everyone has it in them to kill another person. In desperation, or hatred, or at least to defend themselves.
Her absence had felt like torture--almost a form of personal punishment. He had nobody to discuss his feelings with, and for the first time he realised with appalling clarity what a destructive hold she had over him.