James Ellroy is a renowned American crime fiction writer best known for his dark, intricate narratives and stylistic prose. Born in 1948 in Los Angeles, Ellroy's tumultuous early life significantly influenced his gritty storytelling. His celebrated works include "The Black Dahlia" and "L.A. Confidential," both part of the L.A. Quartet series. Ellroy's unique voice and detailed historical settings have solidified his status as a master of noir fiction.
You get tough like me and you don’t get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin’ can touch you.
Some men get the world, some men get ex-hookers and a trip to Arizona. You’re in with the former, but my god I don’t envy the blood on your conscience.
You can’t throw a rock without hitting a peeper in Hollywood, but you can’t make a case without one either.
I want to fuck you so bad right now. I can’t see straight. Think about it, Bucky Boy, all that lovely money. You like money, don’t you? You like pussy too, don’t you? You like pussy and money, don’t you?
I’ve been through the mill. I’ve dug with the shovel, the pickaxe, and the drill. I’ve mucked out and I’ve assayed. I’ve been face-to-face and hand-to-hand. I’ve got the Black Dahlia. I’ve got her killer.
My mother wants to know if I ever think of suicide. I tell her it’s always an option.
I had a rotten Christmas. The holiday season, it’s a bad time to be alone.
Why do psychopaths always have nice apartments?
I’m a Catholic whore, currently enjoying congress out of wedlock with my black Jewish boyfriend who works at a military abortion clinic. So hail Satan, and have a lovely afternoon.
I’m a genius. I’m a great detective. I’m a genius. I’m a great detective. I’m a genius. I’m a great detective. I’m a genius. I’m a great detective. I’m a genius. I’m a great detective. I’m a genius. I’m a great detective.
The press is a bunch of cockroaches. The more you feed ‘em, the bigger they get.
She was a tease, she was fun to look at and fun to play with, but she had a hard-on about getting fucked, and then when you got her in bed she’d lose the hard-on and you’d have to pretend she hadn’t.