Harlan Coben Tell No One Quotes & Sayings

I made the deal with Mr. Zuckerman on my own," Crispin said. "I could make others." "I won't comment on the Zoom deal," Win said. "But I will tell you this. You are a bright young man. A bright man knows not only his strengths but equally important, he knows his weaknesses. I do not, for example, know how to negotiate an endorsement contract. I may know the basics, but it is not my business. I'm not a plumber. If a pipe in my house broke, I would not be able to fix it. You are a golfer. You are one of the greatest talents I have ever seen. You should concentrate on that." Tad — Harlan Coben

I am very lucky that I get to tell stories for a living. I love being able to grab people's attention, to keep them turning the pages, to make them stay awake all night. I want to stir the pulse, yes, but also to stir the heart. I hope 'The Woods' does that. — Harlan Coben

Most of the blood - nearly all of it, really - belonged to the victim, Rick Collins," Berleand said. His voice was measured now, as if he were trying to wade his way through whatever he was about to tell us. "That's hardly a surprise." We — Harlan Coben

Looked me straight in the eye and spoke an indisputable truth: You don't know my life. — Harlan Coben

No, I don't live in heartache. I don't cry myself to sleep or any of that. I am, I tell myself, over it. But I do feel a void, icky as that sounds. And - like it or not - I still think about her every single day. — Harlan Coben

Children learn much more from how you act than from what you tell them. There are times this worries me - we parents are rarely the role models we want to be. True for life. True for driving. — Harlan Coben

I wish i could tell you that through the tragedy i mined some undiscovered, life-altering absolute that i could pass on to you.I didn't.The cliches apply-people are what count,life is precious,materialism is over rated, and the little things matter,live in the moment-and i can repeat them to you ad nauseam.you might listen, but you won't internalize.Tragedy hammers it hm.Tragedy etches into your soul.You might not be happier.But you will be better. — Harlan Coben

Let me back up a little and tell you why I prefer writing to real life: You can rewrite. A novel, for example, can be cleaned up, altered, trimmed, improved. Life, on the other hand, is one big messy rough draft. — Harlan Coben

Right now, even though he'd been dead for years, she wanted to collapse in her father's big arms and hear him tell her that everything would be all right. Do we ever outgrow that need? — Harlan Coben

What I want to do is tell stories about normal people in the American suburbs. I don't write the book where it's a conspiracy reaching the prime minister; I don't write the book with the big serial killer who lops off heads. My setting is a very placid pool of suburbia, family life. And within that I can make pretty big splashes. — Harlan Coben

I blinked and the images were gone. But I remembered how the laugh and the howl and the splash would ripple and echo in the stillness of our lake, and I wondered if ripples and echoes like those ever fully die away, if somewhere in the woods my father's joyful yelps still bounced quietly off the trees. Silly thought, but there you go. — Harlan Coben

Myron headed down the steps. Without warning a man wearing a blue blazer and aviator sunglasses stepped in front of him. He was a big guy - six-four, two-twenty - just about Myron's size. His neatly combed hair sat above a pleasant though unyielding face. He expanded his chest into a paddleball wall, blocking Myron's path. His voice said, "Can I help you, sir?" But his tone said, Take a hike, bub. Myron looked at him. "Anyone ever tell you you look like Jack Lord?" No reaction. "You know," Myron said. "Jack Lord? Hawaii Five-O?" "I'll have to ask you to leave, sir. — Harlan Coben

Well-meaning friends ' often the worst kind ' handed me the usual clich+!s, and so I feel in a pretty good position to warn you: Just offer your deepest condolences. Don't tell me I'm young. Don't tell me it'll get better. Don't tell me she's in a better place. Don't tell me it's part of some divine plan. Don't tell me that I was lucky to have known such a love. Every one of those platitudes pissed me off. They made me ' and this is going to sound uncharitable ' stare at the idiot and wonder why he or she still breathed while my Elizabeth rotted. — Harlan Coben

The tires bore down, kicking up dust like an Arabian stampede. Elizabeth flipped off the car stereo. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that she was studying my profile. I wondered what she saw, and my heart started fluttering. — Harlan Coben

Win unfastened his seat belt and walked over to Evan Crisp. He handed him the satellite phone. "I need you to call Herman Ache. Tell him we will meet him at his Livingston residence within the hour." Crisp offered up skeptical. "You're kidding, right?" "I am indeed a mirthful fellow. But no." "He won't let you in armed." "That's — Harlan Coben

I'm driving home to change," Win said. "Then I'm dining at Merion." Mainliners never ate; they dined. "Care to join me?" "Sounds good," Myron said. "Wait a second." "What?" "Are you properly attired?" "I don't clash," Myron said. "Will they still let me in?" "My, my, that was very funny, Myron. I must write that one down. As soon as I stop laughing, I plan on locating a pen. However, I am so filled with mirth that I may wrap my precious Jag around an upcoming telephone pole. Alas, at least I will die with jocularity in my heart." Win. "We have a case," Myron said. Silence. Win made this so easy. "I'll tell you about it at dinner." "Until then," Win said, "it'll be all I can do to douse my mounting excitement and anticipation with a snifter of cognac." Click. Gotta love that Win. Myron hadn't driven a mile when the cellular phone rang. Myron switched it on. It was Bucky. "The kidnapper called again. — Harlan Coben

I never allow mediocrity on the golf course. Yet I allowed it to dominate my personal life. Don't you find that odd?" Myron made a noncommittal motion with his head. He could feel Linda's unhappiness radiating off her like a breaking fever. She looked up now and smiled at him. The smile was intoxicating, nearly breaking his heart. He found himself wanting to lean over and hold Linda Coldren. He felt this almost uncontrollable urge to press her against him and feel the sheen of her hair in his face. He tried to remember the last time he had held such a thought for any woman but Jessica; no answer came to him. "Tell me about you," Linda suddenly said. The change of subject caught him off guard. He sort of shook his head. "Boring stuff." "Oh, I doubt that," she said, almost playfully. "Come on now. It'll distract me." Myron — Harlan Coben

Myron put the phone back in his pocket and crossed the path. Dog Collar had his hands jammed into his pants pockets as though he was searching for something that had pissed him off. His shoulders were hunched. He had a tattoo on his neck - Myron couldn't tell what it was - and he was pulling on his cigarette as though he meant to finish it with one inhale. "Hey, — Harlan Coben

So why don't you tell me what's up?" "You're going to think I'm crazy." "Nothing new there." Harvey chuckled and then scanned the area to make sure that no one was around. "All right," he said slowly, "here goes. As you know, Bruce and I have been running the clinic for almost three years now, trying our best to keep all results secret and avoiding the press at all costs." "I — Harlan Coben

Writing my first book, I think in hindsight I went into it saying, 'It's gonna sell.' I was earning enough to scrape by sometime around a book or two before 'Tell No One.' I moved up from $50,000 to $75,000, then $150,000 for each book. I had never thought I would be doing anything else. I had enough encouragement. — Harlan Coben