Hello friends. This post is a collection of quotes from the book Gone Girl by Gillean Flynn. With sharp-edged wit and deliciously chilling prose, Gone Girl is a nerve-fraying thriller that confounds you at every turn.

Quotes

There's something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.

I've always found my wife a bit dazzling, in the purest sense of the word: to lose clear vision, especially from looking at bright light. It was enough to be near her and hear her talk, it didn't always matter what she was saying. It should have, but it didn't.

People say children from broken homes have it hard, but the children of charmed marriages have their own particular challenges.

Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.) And yet: Don't land me in one of those relationships where we're always pecking at each other, disguising insults as jokes, rolling our eyes and ‘playfully' scrapping in front of our friends, hoping to lure them to our side of an argument they could not care less about.

Nick is like a good stiff drink: He gives everything the correct perspective. Not a different perspective, the correct perspective. [...] I have found my match. It's Nick, laid-back and calm, smart and fun and uncomplicated. Untortured, happy. Nice. Big penis.

Nick and I, we sometimes laugh, laugh out loud, at the horrible things women make their husbands do to prove their love. The pointless tasks, the myriad sacrifices, the endless small surrenders. We call these men the dancing monkeys.

Sleep is like a cat: It only comes to you if you ignore it.

The prenup is pure business. It's not for me, it's not even for my parents, it's for my parents' lawyers. It says nothing about us, not you and me.

Compromise, communicate, and never go to bed angry - the three pieces of advice gifted and regifted to all newlyweds.

I am not okay. I will be okay, but right now I am not okay. I want my husband to put his arms around me, to console me, to baby me a little bit. Just for a second.

A lot of people lacked that gift: knowing when to fuck off. People love talking, and I have never been a huge talker. I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don't reach my lips.

I do love that about the Midwest: People don't make a big deal about everything. Not even death.

If you're about to do something, and you want to know if it's a bad idea, imagine seeing it printed in the paper for all the world to see.

Love makes you want to be a better man – right, right. But maybe love, real love, also gives you permission to just be the man you are.

Needles. Blood. I can't do either. I don't really have any other phobias, but those two are solid – I am the girl who swoons at a paper cut. Something about the opening of skin: peeling, slicing, piercing.

For Amy, love was like drugs or booze or porn: There was no plateau. Each exposure needed to be more intense than the last to achieve the same result.

I can't help it, it's what I've always done: The way some women change fashion regularly, I change personalities. What persona feels good, what's coveted, what's au courant? I think most people do this, they just don't admit it, or else they settle on one persona because they're too lazy or stupid to pull off a switch.

Men always say that as the defining compliment, don't they? She's a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she's hosting the world's biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don't mind, I'm the Cool Girl.

Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you? So that's how the hating first began. I've thought about this a lot, and that's where it started, I think.

I've always thought I could commit the perfect murder. People who get caught get caught because they don't have patience; they refuse to plan.

You have to understand one very key thing about Amy: She is fucking brilliant. Her brain is so busy, it never works on just one level. She's like this endless archaeological dig: You think you've reached the final layer, and then you bring down your pick one more time, and you break through to a whole new mine shaft beneath. With a maze of tunnels and bottomless pits.

There is an unfair responsibility that comes with being an only child – you grow up knowing you aren't allowed to disappoint, you're not even allowed to die. There isn't a replacement toddling around; you're it. It makes you desperate to be flawless, and it also makes you drunk with the power. In such ways are despots made.

The media has saturated the legal environment. With the Internet, Facebook, YouTube, there's no such thing as an unbiased jury anymore. No clean slate. Eighty, ninety percent of a case is decided before you get in the courtroom. So why not use it – control the story. But it's a risk. I want every word, every gesture, every bit of information planned out ahead of time.

I'd tried all my life to be a decent guy, a man who loved and respected women, a guy without hang-ups. And here I was, thinking nasty thoughts about my twin, about my mother-in-law, about my mistress. I was imagining bashing in my wife's skull.

You can't be as in love as we were and not have it invade your bone marrow. Our kind of love can go into remission, but it's always waiting to return. Like the world's sweetest cancer.

I was told love should be unconditional. That's the rule, everyone says so. But if love has no boundaries, no limits, no conditions, why should anyone try to do the right thing ever? If I know I am loved no matter what, where is the challenge?

Love should require both partners to be their very best at all times. Unconditional love is an undisciplined love, and as we all have seen, undisciplined love is disastrous.