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“Man near entrance is shot in the head at close range from behind. The other two, multiple stab wounds, genitals severed, other injuries. Also head and pubic hair ignited, shot, muzzle in mouth. Three bullets recovered, 45 calibre."
Villani: “So you can’t rule out an accident?”
― Peter Temple, Truth

“In the mid-1980s, on a spring Sunday morning, a Volvo stationwagon parked in Brunswick Street. A young couple got out. She was trim, blonded, tanned. He was already broadening in the midsection, sockless, short and hairy legs ending in boatshoes. From a restraining chair in the back seat, he unloaded a child, complaining, flailing. They took it into a cafe.

They were going to have brunch.

The old Brunswick Street was dead, Brunchwick Street born. There was no turning back.”
― Peter Temple, White Dog

“I looked at the huge charlatan with respect. Nicotine, dope, hash, barbiturates, speed, acid, smack, Colombian marching powder, ecstasy, alcohol in every form, all had entered the massive frame by some route and in quantities guaranteed to lay waste to the collected brains of three Melbourne universities or eight in Queensland. In theory, a scan of this man’s skull should reveal a place as grey and still as Kerguelen Island in winter. Yet from time to time there were clear signs of electrical activity.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide

“I said, "Thank you. Go the Saints. Goodbye." Go the Saints; I'd said it. The first time. It felt like...coming out.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide

“I went into the concrete-floored betting barn, a deeply inhospitable place, people chewing hotdogs with the apprehensive look of submariners waiting for the depth charge to buckle the plates, pop the rivets.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide

“etiolated skin.â€� Anselm blew smoke.”
― Peter Temple, In the Evil Day

“There is a certain immaturity in taking pleasure at seeing terror in the eyes of a Mercedes driver. But parts of us are forever immature.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide

“My fillings seemed to be transmitting sound and I could taste them.”
― Peter Temple, Shooting Star

“I slumped in the chair. I'd known it was coming. Absolutely no doubt. You know. I'd been feeling sick about it for weeks. So, why did I now feel even sicker? Love. Not a word for casual use. The life-scarred use the word with extreme caution. If you're lucky, you go through life being held up by people loving you. But you don't know you're being held up. You think you're buoyant. You think the buoyancy came first, the love is a bonus you get for being buoyant. And that can go on for a long time. But then one day, the love isn't there anymore and you're sinking, waving arms and sinking, all the old sources of love gone, the newer ones turn out to be fickle. They move on. No one to hold you up, you're just a skinny boy, all ribs, knees, and feet, out in the deep water, can't touch bottom.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide

“Then I sat back on my heels and began to cry, just small sobs, nose and throat sounds at first, soon the other sounds, the sounds we cannot make, cannot call forth, the sounds that make themselves, the sounds that speak of pain and horror and helplessness and injustice, speak of regret, of the regrets. All the regrets.”
― Peter Temple, Shooting Star

“matter what the bastards do. So what if my dad beat my mum, so what if my hubby fucked the babysitter, so”
― Peter Temple, The Broken Shore

“Hidden history of the turf,â€� Harry said. ‘Commissioner called Happy Henry Carmody. Happy shot through on a big punter, Baby Martinez, came from Manila, Hawaii, somewhere like that, got into a few duels with the books. Silly bugger, really. Happy did a bit of work for him, came highly recommended too. Then one Satdee Happy had a kitbag of notes owed to Baby, thought bugger it, Baby’s just some dago’ll cop it sweet, go home and weep under the palm trees.”
― Peter Temple, Bad Debts

“In the room was a blond woman of indeterminate age, lowered to around forty by cutting, injecting, and sanding.”
― Peter Temple, Black Tide