Quotes from Robert Galbraith

He's got some proper big man, take-no-bullshit energy about him, hasn't he?" "You mean he acts like a dick?

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name…

You ought to give up detecting and try fantasy writing, Strike

No self-respecting blowfly wants to lay eggs in acid.

Nutters love murder.

in a prosperous country, in peacetime – notwithstanding those heavy blows of fate to which nobody was immune, and those strokes of unearned luck of which Inigo, the inheritor of wealth, had clearly benefited – character was the most powerful determinant of life's course.

Strike teringat kata Adler, "Kebohongan tidak akan masuk akal, kecuali kebenaran mengandung bahaya yang setara.

I was nearly christened Eric Bloom Strike,' he said and Robin choked on her water. He laughed as she coughed into a napkin. 'Let's face it, Cormoran's not much bloody better. Cormoran Blue—' ' Blue? ' 'Blue Öyster Cult, aren't you listening?' 'God,' said Robin. 'You keep that quiet.' 'Wouldn't you?

Women liked Strike—she had come to realize that over the months they had worked together. She had not understood the appeal when she had started working for him. He was so very different from Matthew.

Middle-class gorls, with their mammies and daddies paying their way, they could afford to burn their bras and have hairy armpits.

Abused people cling to their abusers.

She is a woman of an excellent assurance, and an extraordinary happy wit, and tongue. Ben Jonson, Epicoene, or The Silent Woman

Memories like shrapnel, forever embedded, infected by what had come later…words of love and undying devotion, times of sublime happiness, lies upon lies upon lies…his attention kept sliding away from the stories he was reading.

Optimumque est, ut volgo dixere, aliena insania frui. And the best plan is, as the popular saying was, to profit by the folly of others. Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis

A pause. Sense entered into a short, violent skirmish with instinct and inclination, and was overwhelmed.

she glanced up casually at the two men who'd just sat down at a nearby table. The one with his back to her was tall and broad, with dark, curly hair, and before she could remind herself that he couldn't be Strike, because her partner was in St. Mawes, a thrill of excitement and happiness passed through her.

In her experience, men like Geraint were astoundingly prone to believe that their scattergun sexual advances were appreciated and even reciprocated.

Strike registered the pronounced asymmetry of his pale blue eyes, one of which was a good centimeter higher than the other. It gave him an oddly vulnerable look, as though he had been finished in a hurry.

Even if Heather had barely known her, as seemed to be the case, her frank enjoyment of her fancy lunch and her persistent eyeing-up of Strike seemed both inappropriate and distasteful to Robin.

Strike's eyes followed her hand, but what caught his attention was not the small stack of neatly written papers she was showing him, but the sapphire engagement ring. There was a pause. Robin wondered why her heart was pummeling her ribs. How ridiculous to feel defensive . . . it was up to her whether she married Matthew . . . ludicrous even to feel she had to state that to herself . . .

Nevertheless, there was a kind of relief in admitting the painful truth: she cared deeply for her partner.

Enough, he told his tired, hyperactive brain. Enough. And by the same power of will that in the army had enabled him to fall instantly asleep on bare concrete, on rocky ground, on lumpy camp beds that squeaked rusty complaints about his bulk whenever he moved, he slid smoothly into sleep like a warship sliding out on dark water.

And there was something more, something highly unusual. Strike had never once made her feel physically uncomfortable. Two of them in the office, for a long time the only workers at the agency, and while Robin was a tall woman, he was far bigger, and he'd never made her feel it, as so many men did . . .

For in every ill-turn of fortune the most unhappy sort of unfortunate man is the one who has been happy. Boethius, De