Quotes About Intrigue

As a reader, I happen to like turning pages and wanting to know what happens next.

I just feel like you've got to leave the viewer wanting more, and that's what those kinds of videos from the early 2000s made me want.

Being in the public eye puts you in a fix, and people are always wanting to know what you are up to.

We become attached to certain characters in novels, mostly because they have some mystery attaching to them. We re-read the books, but we're still left wanting to know more. In my own case, it was 'Great Expectations' and Miss Havisham in particular. Luckily, writers have the option of making up the knowledge that reading doesn't supply.

Seriously, if people tune in and watch 'Falling Skies,' they will see a show that will excite them, move them, and will leave them wanting more!

When you have 12 hours of storytelling, the cool thing about it is that you get to really leave people with question marks, but hopefully wanting to come back.

I can't say I wasn't warned. Alarms started clanging the day I signed to write 'His Way: The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra' (Bantam Books, 1986).

The world has become one big grassy knoll, crawling with lone gunmen who think they're the Warren Commission.

It was really in the Golden Age, between the two world wars, when the pure detective story - of which the locked room mystery is really the ultimate form - became popular.

Because I grew up on 'Star Wars', that was the best example of creating a full and rich world to me as a writer. When I was watching those movies as a kid, I wanted to know more about every damn character in that universe. There was always a hint that there was a story there that you just weren't getting to see.

Are you in love with Prince Lucian?' screamed my uncle. 'What were you up to when I arrived? You weren't going to mate right here in the snow, were you?

I dared not let my eyes widen in horror or the guards would be on to me; to buy myself some time, I curtsied deeply, to a slow count of three. The prince, when I finally dared to look at him again, seemed amused. He gestured broadly. "You are finished here, one hopes?" "Yes, thank you," I said, managing to keep any tremor out of my voice. "If you wish to

here?" She dipped into the box and pulled

Jackass, jackass on the wall, where's the info on Hex Hall?

As though suddenly realized how intimate it seemed to be in my bedroom, he cleared his throat and took a step back. He gave my room one more look and took another step back. "It's amazing what a room can reveal." Then he walked down the hallway and knocked on Tiffany's door. I wondered what he'd discover looking into her room.

You've got Mac. When we went to get drinks at the concert, all he talked about was how cool you were. And Jason? The way he looks at you sometimes…if Mom ever sees that look, the guy will be sleeping in his car.

How does she do that?" Bird asked. I didn't have to ask who the she was. I knew it was Tiffany. Nor did I have to ask what Bird was referring to. Jason and Mac were leaning toward Tiffany, listening to whatever it was she was saying, like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Does she wear, like, turn-'em-stupid perfume or something?" Bird asked.

Mickie, and watch yourself. Something's in the water.

She goes where she pleases. She appears unhoped for, uncalled for. She moves through doors and walls and windows. Her thoughts move through minds. She enters dreams. She vanishes and is still there. She knows the future and sees through flesh. She is not afraid of anything.

I have always been intrigued by the journals that girls keep. They are like dollhouses. Once you look inside them, the rest of the world seems very far away, even unbelievable.

Hey, Ernessa, where the fuck are you?

A funny thing about women and machines: the combination made men curious.

Harper lifted the book without looking at Flann. "Reading here." Flannery craned her neck. "The Case of the Missing Girlfriend.

But Guidobaldo scoffed at his qualms "Do you account my niece a peasant girl?" he asked. "Would you have her smirk and squirm at every piece of flattery you utter? So that she weds Your Highness what shall the rest signify?" "I would that she loved me a little," complained Gian Maria foolishly. Guidobaldo looked him over with an eye that smiled inscrutably, and it may have crossed his mind that this coarse white-faced Duke was too ambitious.