Quotes from Louise Penny

eventually that pain turned to bitterness, and the bitterness turned to anger, and the anger became rage. Until that rage became madness.

Most unhappiness comes from not being able to sit quietly in a room." "Pascal,

He parked in the driveway of her home, where a huge Père Noël on the roof waved at him. From the car, Jean-Guy considered the herd of reindeer on the front lawn, all with blinking red noses. It was ridiculous. He kinda liked it.

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. Clara wasn't sure

Around them the other residents of Quebec City were waking up. Coming out into the tender morning light to shovel, to scrape the snow from their cars, to walk to the boulangerie for their morning baguette and café.

He hated firearms. Their only purpose was to kill people.

That we could forget the good and only remember the

How often something starts off as noble, and then warps, corrupts, takes on a life of its own. Becomes a creature in a black cloak.

enamorarse. «Ya no existe la soledad.»

Ducks mate for life, Clara knew. That's why duck hunting season was particularly cruel. Every now and then in the fall you'd see a lone duck, quacking. Calling. Waiting for its spouse. And for the rest of its life it would wait.

Getting in his car he let it warm up, feeling the heated seats grow warm under him. On a bitterly cold winter day it was almost as good as sex.

They believe in a virgin birth, a resurrection, walking on water and some old guy with a white beard floating in the sky and running the world, but this they find unbelievable?" Gamache was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "It is interesting," he agreed, "what people choose to believe." And what they'd do in the name of that faith.

It seemed Yolande had become so self-absorbed she no longer existed. She'd finally absorbed herself.

And so, as often happens when men of God disagree, a war erupted.

I've realized that anyone can be a critic but it takes a remarkable person to offer praise.

You didn't just lose a loved one. You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually, it all came back, but different. Rearranged.

A lot of what we know to be history isn't," said Gamache. "You know that, I know that. It serves a purpose. Events are exaggerated, heroes fabricated, goals are rewritten to appear more noble than they actually were. All to manipulate public opinion, to manufacture a common purpose or enemy. And the cornerstone of a really great movement? A powerful symbol. Take away or tarnish that and everything starts to crumble, everything's questioned. Can't have that.

It was an oddly comforting sight, for men and women who'd been immersed in brutality. Who'd worn their guns more proudly than their badges.

Violent, intentional, death still surprised him, whether of a man or mouse.

A populace he saw not as either victim or threat, but as brothers and sisters. Equals, to be respected and protected. And sometimes arrested.

If you want an idea to flourish, the best fertilizer is the body of a martyr. I don't want her ideas to flourish, but someone else might. Something to think about, Chief Inspector.

We see it when bullies are in charge.

Havoc!" his mother cried, letting the dogs slip out as she called into the woods.

Addicts, you're pathetic.' Myrna looked over at Ruth's vase of Scotch, half gone. `You're wrong there,' said Ruth, following Myrna's gaze. `This used to be my drug of choice. In my teens my drug of choice was acceptance, in my twenties it was approval, in my thirties it was love, in my forties it was Scotch. That lasted a while,' she admitted. `Now all I really crave is a good bowel movement.