Quotes from Louise Penny

Dear God, thought Gamache, save me from a huffy priest.

Each day they tracked down killers. Each day they put their own lives on the line. And in return they were scapegoated. Chained to the ground, food for politicians looking for reelection.

Their reasons are their own,' he finally said. 'I don't have to care.

When you've seen the worst, You appreciate the best.

You are a man with a protective instinct. To care that deeply is a blessing. But like most blessings, it can also be a curse.

It smelled of the past, of a time before computers, before information was "Googled" and "blogged." Before laptops and BlackBerries and all the other tools that mistook information for knowledge.

We have a solemn pact.' Kaye nodded to Mother and looked over at Em talking to some neighbors. 'If one of us is unconscious in the hospital, the others will make sure it's pulled.' 'The plug?' Ruth asked. 'The chin hair,' said Kaye, eyeing Ruth with some alarm. 'You're off the visitors list. Mother, make a note.

But wouldn't people, his clients, realize? When there was no actual money in the account?" "How?" "When they asked for it." "But people don't," she said. "They give it to their investment dealer, and at best they cash in the dividends or take the profits. But the capital remains in the account. Weren't you ever told by your parents never to touch the capital?" "No. I was told not to touch my brother's bike.

Clara knew that grief took a terrible toll. It was paid at every birthday, every holiday, each Christmas. It was paid when glimpsing the familiar handwriting, or a hat, or a balled-up sock. Or hearing a creak that could have been, should have been, a footstep. Grief took its toll each morning, each evening, every noon hour as those who were left behind struggled forward.

Our secrets make us sick because they separate us from other people. Keep us alone. Turn us into fearful, angry, bitter people. Turn us against others, and finally against ourselves. A murder almost always began with a secret. Murder was a secret spread over time. Gamache

It would be natural for some to feel that pressure and choose speed over quality. And try to hide it when something goes wrong. Not because they're bad people, but because they're people. That way lies tragedy.

We just don't know. The key is to keep going. Joy might be just around the corner.

I'll put my faith in individuals, not the collective.

There's no wrong answer. Just the truth.

Far greater than Gamache's anger was his caring.

It was like walking into joy.

it didn't feel wrong. It felt wretched. Horrific. A nightmare. But sometimes "right" felt like that.

she knew the real threat to her happiness came not from the dot in the distance, but from looking for it. Expecting it. Waiting for it. And in some cases, creating it.

We all have, she knew, a place where we're not only most comfortable, but most competent

But he'd come to agree with Sister Prejean that no one was as bad as the worst thing they'd done. Armand Gamache had seen the worst. But he'd also seen the best. Often in the same person.

unbalanced, in that she sees quite clearly what's wrong with the world but can't seem to see what's right.

What is essential is invisible to the eye. Knowledge, ideas, thoughts. Imagination. All invisible. All lived in libraries.

Apart they were individual colors, but together they made giddy light.

Why did he kill his own mother?' Ruth asked. 'The oldest story in the book,' said Gamache. 'Ben was a male prostitute?' Gabri exclaimed. 'That's the oldest profession. Where do you keep your head?' asked Ruth. 'Never mind, don't answer that.