When Kenny shot Charlie, no one was really sure how to react. It wasn't because it was all that surprising — Kenny had had it out for Charlie since day one — but we didn't know whether to rejoice at the end of a feud or dread whatever was coming next.
“Where’s my cannoli?” a little voice behind me says.
The rod of the pool cue glided back and forth between Martin’s slim fingers as he surveyed the field before him: the odds were not in his favor.
I was married, once. She was French. Her names was Inès, and I suppose I should have known that any woman whose name means “chaste” (especially if she’s French) is destined to live ironically.
What impresses me most about this book is it's crazy but clear logic — the skill with which Flynn is able to orchestrate this insane narrative and the meticulous planning she must have done to make this story work.