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I'm quite sure more people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake all of it. --Dexter
Jeff Lindsay
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Jeff Lindsay
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: July 14
Novelist
Playwright
Writer
Miami
Florida
Jeffry P. Freundlich
Jeffry P. Lindsay
Everyday
Quite
Sure
Human
Humans
Dexter
People
Fake
Contact
Awful
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Dying makes everyone weaker, subject to painful insight, and not always insight into any kind of special truth - it's just the approaching end that makes people want to believe they are seeing something in the line of a great revelation.
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...my conscience has the same hard reality as a unicorn.
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It happens incompetence is rewarded more often than not.
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As I've said, freedom is really an illusion. Anytime we think we have a real choice, it just means we haven't seen the shotgun aimed at our navel.
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But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am as I said, no rest for the wicked.
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...being torn apart by far too many loyalties that could not possibly live together in the same brain.
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For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.
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I nodded with genuine synthetic sympathy.
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They like to tell us that it is important to speak the truth, but it has been my experience that real happiness lies in having people tell you what you want to believe, usually not the same thing at all, and if you have to stub your toe on the truth later, so be it.
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Rectory always sounded to me like a place where you would find a proctologist.
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I sighed as comforting as it may be to some of us, sarcasm, like youth, is wasted on the young.
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She really did like me, the idiot.
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Feeling - what authentic human fun!
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I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don't know, but I'm almost there. I hear my friends calling.
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...she opened the door very slowly and carefully, half hiding behind it, as if badly frightened of what might be waiting for her on the other side. And considering that it was me waiting, this showed rare common sense.
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Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?
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First things first has always been my motto, mostly because it makes absolutely no sense - after all, if first things were second or third, they wouldn't be first things, would they? Still, cliches exist to comfort the feeble minded, not to provide any actual meaning.
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What do you want a clock for?” “To find out what time it is,” I said. “I think that’s the usual purpose.
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It's terrible to have to depend on someone else.
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But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.
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