If We Were Villains: A Novel

You can justify anything if you do it poetically enough.”

Richard: “Hatred is the sincerest form of flattery.”
Alexander: “That’s imitation, dickhead.”

Murder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke.

We lie side by side in solemn darkness. All I can think of is Macbeth—he has James’s face in my imagination—shouting, Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep, so sleep no more! Oh, balm of hurt minds. I want sleep desperately, but do not hope to have it

Somewhere in the middle of my speech, James’s wry amusement faded from his face and was replaced with a cold, ugly look. When it was his turn to speak I watched him closely, uncertain whether he was acting only, or if he and I both were gnashing secrets between our teeth.

James was in love with Wren, and I was blindly, savagely jealous.

For someone who loved words as much as I did, it was amazing how often they failed me.

as if the lack of oxygen had caused all our molecules to rearrange.

Which of us could say we were more sinned against than sinning

He doth bestride the narrow world / Like a Colossus,” James remarked, “and we petty men / Walk under his huge legs and peep about / To find ourselves dishonorable graves.