Quotes from Kerry Greenwood

This is what 'forever' means, my dear. You don't walk into danger on your own. Not anymore.

In here, Phryne, is the nursery. Do you like babies? Phryne laughed. No, not at all. they are not aesthetic like a puppy or a kitten. In fact, they always look drunk to me. look at that one---you'd swear he had been hitting the gin.

Both had suggestive bulges in their pockets which told of either huge genitalia or trousered pistols.

Phryne looked at a large statue of St. Joseph, for whom she had always had an admiration. It can't have been easy, managing a girl with an inexplicable pregnancy. But he had accepted the word of the Lord and not put her away. Later generations had not been so forgiving.

One only has a few fragrant nights of spring. Store your memories for when you are old. You will enjoy them again under such a moon as this.

One can look at a plumber, a labourer, and say without a great sense of irony, 'He is a man, capable of the same heroism as Admiral Nelson or Saint Francis of Assisi.' But no one looks at a woman and says, 'She is a woman, she is capable of the same heroism as Lady Godiva or Anne Askew.' Our heroines are separated from us. So instead of trying to make Man accept us as daughters of heroism, we must raise all women to the level of heroines.

The young will no longer be advised by the old," she said to the hall porter. "That is because we advised them to die," said the hall porter.

Lust was a reliable emotion, but greed was altogether simpler to satisfy and you got to keep your clothes on.

Dot had discovered in herself a keen interest in diligent research of nice calm paper records, which never wept or ran away or turned nasty.

Even the reeking dark in the lion's cage seemed precious and infinitely preferable to whatever lay beyond. She would go out like the flame of a candle. Where does the candle flame go when the candle is blown out? She laid her painted face against the iron bars and bared her teeth at death.

It was always easier to genuinely praise than to try and find something nice to say about rubbish.

Never trust a man who bites the heads off chickens is probably a good sound rule of practice.

It took determination to be really strange. That, or absinthe before breakfast every day.

Dot wondered how she was to mention Phryne's habit of strewing her boudoir with beautiful naked young men. She could not think of a method of introducing the subject and decided to leave it to Phryne to cope with.

Jane read her Anatomy, occasionally raising her eyes from a diagram to consider any human within sight in a dissecting sort of way which, Dot said, gave her the willies.

I want to find the murderer too. I don't like having my journeys interrupted by chloroform.

Miss? Miss Phryne? Are you all right?' 'Come in, Dot. I'm fine. Some son of unmarried parents just tried to kidnap me.' 'What did you do with the body, Miss?

We learn love from the people who love us.

Amazement could go no further. If Phryne had ridden in on a unicorn he would merely have remarked on its elegant hocks and golden horn and suggested that she enter it weight for age at Felmington. Well, no, not a unicorn. Not Phryne. A dragon, perhaps. He was sure that she could tame a dragon.

She smiled brightly on Mrs. West. "Who's your dressmaker, Mrs. West?" she asked, with a view to avoiding the woman all costs. Such extremes of fashion as the purple shift dress which Mrs. West was almost wearing was not for Phryne. She preferred her personality to supply the outrageous edge to her appearance, not her exposed bosom.

You've been making a regular habit of flinging yourself in front of bullets," she remarked amiably. "It's really not a good custom. Curb this tendency to self-immolation.

platypuses irresistible proof that God likes a joke as much as anyone else. 'A platypus is intrinsically much less likely than a unicorn or a sea serpent.

I remind my American readers that biscuits in England and Australia are crispy flat things such as you call cookies, and the soft doughy things you call biscuits are what we call scones. And they say we speak the same language…

She looked as plump and self-confident as the city pigeons outside, and as sure of her place.