Quotes from Elizabeth Peters

Selim, you will speak with your kin and your friends in Gurneh; perhaps some of them will respond to direct threats--questions, I mean to say.

Lady Baskerville paced up and down wringing her hands. She required only an armful of weedy flowers to make a somewhat mature Ophelia.

Though Emerson is a firm believer in the equality of the female sex, he has some secret reservations, and one of them involves the car. (There is something about these machines that makes men want to pound their chests and roar like gorillas. I speak figuratively, of course.)

no eyes but mine will read these words. Why, then, the gentle Reader will ask, do I infer his or her existence by addressing her, or him? The answer should be obvious. Art cannot exist in a vacuum. The creative spirit must possess an audience. It is impossible for a writer to do herself justice if she is only talking to herself.

Eavesdropping, Mother?' Ramses inquired. 'It is a shameful habit, but cursed useful,' I said, quoting something he had once said, and was rewarded by one of his rare and rather engaging smiles.

moon dipped low over the dark outlines of the mountains, and the sable sky blazed with stars. There

Cousin John reads Tolkien. No man who does that can be wholly evil.

Initially Sir Harold had threatened to take Emerson to law. He was prevented by some notion that this would be unsportsmanlike. (Seemingly no such stigma applied to the pursuit of a single fox by a troop of men on horseback and a pack of dogs.)

We could not have been more firmly dismissed. Emerson bowed in silence, and I felt a certain … well, perhaps embarrassment is the proper word. For the first time I could see the priest's point of view. The strangers had moved into his town, told his people they were wrong, threatened his spiritual authority, and he had no recourse, for the strangers were protected by the government. A way of life centuries old was passing; and he was helpless to prevent it.

The mountains were rough amethysts, against a sky like a giant stage backdrop—layers of gauzy scarlet and gold and amber, lit from behind by mammoth spotlights.

But he was a perfect gentleman, Aunt Amelia. He did not even try to kiss me, though he wanted to. ... You always tell me I must be receptive to broadening experiences. That would have been a broadening experience. And, from what I have observed, a very enjoyable one.

I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed--though in defense I must add that the raising of Ramses would have discouraged any woman.

It is setting a high value upon our opinions to roast men alive on account of them.' Nobody ever said a truer word.

Nefret was still pouting when Emerson helped her into the carriage. Emerson did not observe the pout. He would not have observed it (men being what they are) even if something had not distracted him.

The fact that she had not yet exterminated her mother proved that she was incapable of violence.

Annoyance has an unfortunate effect on one's literary style; phrases like "work my fingers to the bone" and "sacrifice my own inclinations to the needs of others

I don't know why I should have been so pleased to see Lucas behaving like a gentleman for a change. I never liked the man... But of course I know why. I would have defended Satan himself if he had been in disfavor with Emerson.

There are occasions upon which a candid expression of opinion may be not only rude, but counterproductive. L

So I went upstairs, to console the other half of the pair of heartbroken lovers, and a tedious business it was too, when a little common sense on both parts would have settled the matter to the satisfaction of all. With

What kind of housekeeping do you call this, Peabody?' I pointed out the injustice of the charge in a few brisk but well-chosen words. Emerson mopped his brow. 'Pardon my language, Peabody. It has been a trying morning. And now this!

I love you," he said flatly. "I--love--you. Shall I elaborate? I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you. I didn't want to love you. I tried not to love you. I will undoubtedly regret loving you, but--God help me--I love you--so much--" "That's what I thought you said," I murmured.

I warn. Give it to me. If you do, no harm will follow, I swear it.' As Emerson might have said, this was the wrong approach to take to me. (In fact, Emerson would have put it more emphatically, using terms like 'red flag to a bull.') I

Other attempts ensued. I was visited by streams of attentive nieces and nephews assuring me of their devotion—which had been demonstrated, over the past years, by their absence.

I am sure I need not explain to any sensible (that is, female) reader why I woke the following morning absolutely furious with Emerson. Such are the vacillations of the human heart; and I have observed that the farther one goes in one direction, the more violent the swing in the opposite direction will be.