Цитаты из книги The Reapers

THERE ARE SO MANY killings, so many victims, so many lives lost and ruined every day, that it can be hard to keep track of them all, hard to make the connections that might bring cases to a close. Some are obvious: the man who kills his girlfriend, then takes his own life, either out of remorse or because of his own inability to face the consequences of his actions; or the tit‑for‑tat murders of hoodlums, gangsters, drug dealers, each killing leading inexorably to another as the violence escalates. One death invites the next, extending a pale hand in greeting, grinning as the ax falls, the blade cuts. There is a chain of events that can easily be reconstructed, a clear trail for the law to follow.

But there are other killings that are harder to connect, the links between them obscured by great distances, by the passage of years, by the layering of this honeycomb world as time folds softly upon itself.

The honeycomb world does not hide secrets: it stores them. It is a repository of buried memories, of half‑forgotten acts.

In the honeycomb world, everything is connected.

She was the Cerberus at the gates of their underworld.

A bad workman blames his tools

Trying to get answers from him when he didn’t want to give them was like trying to straighten a snake.

Amateurs tend to make small mistakes before they make large ones.

You need the noise to appreciate the silence

“You got a soul like a raisin, you know that?”

“Just drive. My raisin‑like soul needs peace.”

No relationship could function or survive under the burden of total honesty.

Angel’s violence was born out of circumstance; Louis’s was elemental.

As for dying, he didn’t believe that he was frightened of it: the manner of it, perhaps, but not the fact of it. After all, he had reached an age where dying had started to become an objective reality instead of an abstract concept.

He looked like a corpse that hadn’t yet realized it was dead.

Louis, the killer, the burning man.

Louis, the last of the Reapers.