Mr. Mercedes 1x9
Pete: This... is where, if I didn't care about my pension, I'd tell you... to go fuck yourself.
Holly: What? We all so happily believe that God is watching over us, yet the idea that the almighty might be so almighty that it could inhabit an inanimate object? That's just beyond the scope of our imagination? That's bullshit. Or, I mean, if you prefer the Irish translation... it's "fooked."
Bill: ... You can keep the bulldog.
Brady: You get the kids, you get the parents. Same as selling ice cream.
Robi: Am I in danger?
Bill: Only of being a dick.
Bill: What can you tell me about him, uh, Brady?
Lou: Uhh, well, for starters, he's maybe the sweetest person on planet Earth...
Lou: What? A homicide? Brady Hartsfield? .... Look, dude, I don't know where you're going with this, but, uh, I can tell you, you got the wrong ice cream man.
Ida: My God. You think you have a sense of people...
Bill: Right under my fucking nose.
Bill: Underneath their skin and bones, some people, rare people, thank God, just have black holes. They're born that way, but there's no getting at it. No changing its mind. The black hole rules until the host is dead.
Holly: Mike Sturdivant could have chosen not to bother me, and his life would have been exactly the same. But he did bother me, and my life wasn't ever the same again...
Brady: Somebody will write a book about me one day. Psychologists will profile me. Perhaps one of those horrormeisters will write a novel. Tonight's chapter could be called... "Things that go bang in the night."
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