Quotes from Robert Galbraith

You can't count a croissant. Mostly air.

At last they saw what Strike had felt the need to see: a wide expanse of flat ocean, the color of chalcedony, beneath a periwinkle sky.

The roar of the crowd had thundered through both fighters' veins like a second pulse. Strike

Feeling guilty about not achieving stuff is the result of internalised capitalism, apparently.' 'Seriously?' 'Oh yeah. You never been to a communist country? Everyone lies on sofas all day while trained poodles bring them cake.

a multitudinous mess of life's unnecessities.

Best while you have it use your breath, There is no drinking after death. John Fletcher, The Bloody Brother

The silence had that slack quality that speaks only of the indifference of uninhabited rooms, and his footsteps sounded alien and overloud as he made his way down the hall.

how happy I should feel if I could succeed in bringing a little light into all this murky ugliness. Henrik Ibsen, Rosmersholm

Even though he'd been craving solitude for the past ten days, the prospect of his silent attic room was cheerless, after these long days of dread and loss.

He] looked as thought he had been carved out of soft ebony by a master hand that had grown bored with its own expertise, and started to veer towards the grotesque.

He knew that his personal tipping point was drawing nearer; that moment by which, unless he left, he would find it too onerous to go, to readjust to

He handed her her pills and the cup; her hands trembled; he had to support the saucer and he thought, inappropriately, of a priest offering communion.

The act of shopping for what he needed, and of setting up the bare necessities for himself, had lulled Strike back into the familiar soldierly state of doing what needed to be done, without question or complaint.

a kind of emotional exhaustion had set in.

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise… Emily Dickinson Aspiration

There he sits a whole afternoon sometimes, reading of these same abominable, vile, (a pox on them, I cannot abide them!) rascally verses. Ben Jonson, Every Man in His Humour

She was almost monosyllabic among the buckets of mimosa and lilies a quarter of an hour later. The florist fussed and fiddled, holding blooms against Robin's hair and accidentally letting drops of cold, greenish water fall from the long stem of a rose onto her cream sweater.

But he was her best friend.

They might have something else.

was very wealthy, something that Strike had not realised until the first night he had been permitted to come back to the marital home and found himself in a spacious, wood-floored apartment overlooking Regent's

A clever, pretty girl with nice manners, but her willingness to meet him the very night following their first introduction, and that night a Saturday to boot, hinted at recklessness, or perhaps neediness.

Robin turned her iPad so that Strike could see it. He moved his chair in: Robin felt his knee bump hers.

Strike had long since come to believe that she engineered situations out of an apparently insatiable need for conflict.

Not for the first time, he had cause to marvel at the fact that the woman who'd come to him as a temporary secretary had proven to be the agency's biggest asset.