Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings.

As she reached the landing, the thunder came. The whole house seemed to shake with it.

The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on.

Nobody would be quite as surprised as my wife, when I killed her.

A week ago, Norman would never have dared. But this wasn't a week ago, it was now, and things were different. It was now, and he had to face the truth.

Mother would be in real trouble right now.

Lowery would half kill himself to make an extra dollar, and he'd be perfectly willing to kill any of his employees for another fifty cents.

Norman stirred, turned, and then fell into a darkness deeper and more engulfing than the swamp.

He winced at the realization, then took a deep breath. This was no time to be self-conscious or self-critical. One had to be prctical. Very practical, very careful, very calm.

Talk about not knowing other people—why, when you came right down to it, you didn't even know yourself!

You hate people. Because, really, you're afraid of them, aren't you? Always have been, ever since you were a little tyke. Rather snuggle up in a chair under the lamp and read. You did it thirty years ago, and you're still doing it now. Hiding away under the covers of a book.

A foolish man tells a woman to stop talking, a wise man tells her that her mouth looks extremely beautiful when her lips are closed.

Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly...

Lila closed her mouth, but the scream continued. It was the insane scream of an hysterical woman, and it came from the throat of Norman Bates.

All at once she could hear the sullen patter of the rain and sense the sigh of the wind behind it. She remembered the sound, because it had rained like that the day Mom was buried, the day they lowered her into that little rectangle of darkness.

All at once that was the most important thing—to get out of the dark.

The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on.

So I had this problem -- work or starve. So I thought I'd combine the two and decided to become a writer.

You make yourself sick.

And here, all along, she'd thought of herself as being so calm, so cool, so composed.

Mothers sometimes are overly possessive, but not all children allow themselves to be possessed.

The sun surrendered its splendor—why, it was like poetry; he was a poet; Norman smiled. He was many things. If they only knew—— But.

Everything in this business makes sense, because it serves a real purpose, fills a need that's a part of living. Even a single nail, like this one, fulfills a function. Drive it into a crucial place and you can depend on it to do a job, keep on doing it for a hundred years to come. Long after we're dead and gone, both of us.

We're all not quite as sane as we pretend to be. Sam.

What kind of a hick town is this, anyway? she murmured. A bank is held up and the sheriff is in church. What's he doing, praying that somebody will catch the robbers for him?

It was the knife that, a moment later, cut off her scream.

All at once she could hear the sullen patter of the rain and sense the sigh of the wind behind it.

I haven't had this much fun since the rats ate my baby sister.

Funny how we take it for granted that we know all there is to know about another person, just because we see them frequently or because of some strong emotional tie.

Somehow, despite it's tragedies, life goes on.

It was really a fascinating book—no wonder he hadn't noticed how fast the time had passed.

It's all right, he said, wondering at the same time why there were no better words, why there never are any better words to answer fear and grief and loneliness.

Their smiles were cracking. Glass is brittle.

The light shone down on his plump face, reflected from his rimless glasses, bathed the pinkness of his scalp beneath the thinning sandy hair as he bent his head to resume reading.

He pressed a switch and the bedside lamp blossomed and sent forth yellow petals of light.

Norman Bates heard the noise and a shock went through him.

I always carry a pistol when I go [to the New York Public Library]. Never did trust those stone lions.

Norman Bates will never die...

She was afrad of him, now. Yes, she must be. Because not once, all through this, had she called him "son".

The car was in the swamp. And the hamper was in the trunk. And the body was in the hamper. The twisted torso and the bloody head. But he couldn't think about that. He mustn't. There were other things to do.

Murder was a terrible thing. Even if you're not quite right in the head, you can realize that much. Mother must be suffering quite a bit. Perhaps.

Norman Bates heard the noise and a shock went through him. It sounded as though somebody was tapping on the windowpane. He looked up, hastily, half prepared to rise, and the book slid from his hands to his ample lap. Then he realized that the sound was merely rain. Late afternoon rain, striking the parlor window.

She raised her face defiantly, and the sharp shadow line slashed across her neck. For a moment, it looked as though somebody had just cut off Lila's head...

She'd thrown something at the mirror, and then the mirror broke into a thousand pieces and she knew that wasn't all; she was breaking into a thousand pieces, too.

Despite my ghoulish reputation, I really have the heart of a small boy. I keep it in a jar on my desk.

If she sat there without moving, they wouldn't punish her. If she sar there without moving, they'd know that she was sane, sane, sane.

Norman sighed and shook his head. He couldn't afford the risk. Not while that thing still sprawled in the shower stall back at the motel. Leaving it there was even more risky.

But who are you to say a person should be put away? I think perhaps all of us go a little crazy at times.

I have the heart of a child. I keep it in a jar on my shelf.