Quotes About Intrigue

Dr. Doemling, does he want to fuck her or kill her, or eat her, or what?' Mason asked, exhausting the possibilities he could see. 'Probably all three,' Dr. Doemling said.

If you believe you are beyond harm, will you go inside? Will you enter this palace so prominent in blood and glory, follow your face through the web-spanned dark, toward the exquisite chiming of the clavier? The alarms cannot see us. The wet policeman lurking in the doorway cannot see us. Come …

Hannibal could smell him.

Their idle glances walked on him with many tiny feet.

if she looked deeply where the dark sucks in the sparks, she might see something useful. She thought she might see glee. Thank

You don't even dislike him all the time, hard as that is to believe. Then, if you're lucky, out of the stuff you know, part of it plucks at you, tries to get your attention. Always tell me when something plucks, Starling.

He's a cemetery mink. He lives down in a ribcage in the dry leaves of a heart.

He's all right. Just don't mention proton decay." "I'll try to talk around it.

BARNEY HAD never been in the barn before.

There is not a sprig of grass that shoots uninteresting to me.

Jaki? dystyngowany l?k, ?e swymi pytaniami sprowokowa? zbyt wielk? poufa?o?? i dowie si? czego?, co go nic nie obchodzi, krzy?owa?a si? w nim z ju? rozbudzon? ciekawo?ci? i uwag?, z pragnieniem, by si? z tych ust dowiedzie? czego? wi?cej.

Questions arose. Like, what in the fuck was going on here, basically.

Everything is some kind of a plot, man.

What? -- RICHARD M NIXON

Though she knew even less about radios than about Southern Californians, there were to both outward patterns a hieroglyphic sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate.

As spread thighs are to the libertine...so was the letter V to young Stencil.

WE AWAIT SILENT TRISTERO'S EMPIRE.

Before long, Maxine finds herself wandering around clicking on everything, faces, litter on the floor, labels on bottles behind the bar, after a while interested not so much in where she might get to than the texture of the search itself.

Things then did not delay in turning curious.

But Lord Blatherard Osmo was able at last to devote all of his time to Novi Pazar. Early in 1939, he was discovered mysteriously suffocated in a bathtub full of tapioca pudding, at the home of a Certain Viscountess. Some have seen in this the hand of the Firm.

Non-Masons stay pretty much in the dark about What Goes On, though now and then something jumps out, exposes itself, jumps giggling back again, leaving you with few details but a lot of Awful Suspicions. Some

Thomas Pynchon

New York as a character in a mystery would not be the detective, would not be the murderer. It would be the enigmatic suspect who knows the real story but isn't going to tell it. —DONALD E. WESTLAKE

Slothrop, who believes that women, like Martians, have antennas men do not, keeps an eye on her.