Quotes from Louise Penny

There are four statements that lead to wisdom.

Peter kept filling his wine glass, and Clara prattled on about getting the garden ready. That was the beauty of friends, she knew. Nothing was expected of Monsieur Béliveau, and he knew it. Sometimes it's just nice not to be alone.... On the veranda Clara and Peter had hugged him but offered no easy words of comfort. To do that would be to simply comfort themselves. What Monsieur Béliveau needed was to feel bad. And then he'd feel better.

When Thoreau was arrested for protesting an injustice, Ralph Waldo Emerson had visited him in prison and said, "Henry, what are you doing in there?" And Thoreau had replied, "Ralph, what are you doing out there?

Even Google Maps doesn't have it," said Huifen. "And the GPS thinks we parked in the middle of the forest." "The middle of nowhere," said Jacques. "It's still recalculating," said Nathaniel. "She seemed quite concerned for us.

A portrait reveals the inner life, the secret life of the person. That's what painters try to capture. But it's one thing to hunt it down in someone else, and a whole other thing to turn the gun on ourselves.

choosing her words carefully now. "It's one thing

Ça va bien aller.

The great parade of life.' Gamache jumped in to stop the parade.

Fear saved lives. But fear could also kill.

I'm afraid it won't stop, and all my bones will disappear and one day I'll just dissolve. I won't be able to stand up anymore, or move." She looked into Clara's eyes. Clung to Clara's eyes. "Mostly I'm afraid that it won't matter. Because I have nowhere to go, and nothing to do. No need of bones.

So pity is the near enemy of compassion,' said Gamache slowly, mulling it over. 'That's right. It looks like compassion, acts like compassion, but is actually the opposite of it. And as long as pity's in place there's not room for compassion. It destroys, squeezes out, the nobler emotion.

stopped subscribing to the Montreal papers. Ignorance really was bliss.

You don't want to go into your head alone, mon petit. It's a very scary place.

some other brown stuff that might not be mud into her tangled hair. All around, villagers wandered with their baskets of brightly colored eggs, looking for the perfect hiding places. Ruth Zardo sat on the bench in the middle of the green tossing