Quotes About Intrigue

Nobody knocks here, and the unexpected sounds ominous.

You wheedle the soul out of things, he said.

There was something northern about him that magnetised her.

Surprised, Kirsty peered at the conveyor

High in the tower, where I sit above the loud complaining of the human sea, I know many souls that toss and whirl and pass, but none there are that intrigue me more than the Souls of White Folk.

In this case I read on. And on. First with the sinking feeling that it was not bad enough to quit, then with a prickle of interest, then a growing excitement, and finally an incredulity: surely it was not possible that it was so good.

I alight at Esplanade in a smell of roasting coffee and creosote and walk up Royal Street. The lower Quarter is the best part. The ironwork on the balconies sags like rotten lace. Little French cottages hide behind high walls. Through deep sweating carriageways one catches glimpses of courtyards gone to jungle.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean

Are you the new person drawn toward me?

Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next

This minute that comes to me over the past Decillions. There is no better than it And now. What behaves well In the past or behaves well To-day is not such a wonder. The wonder is always and Always how there can be A mean man or an infidel.

His persistence baffled me. He was known to guard his privacy, and I had no reason to believe he'd ever read any of my books.

We never cease to stand like curious children before the great mystery into which we were born.

Métase en berenjenales.

La Bella Principessa: The Story of the New Masterpiece by Leonardo Da Vinci.

Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.

Ah, that picture, it will always haunt me," he says, then pauses and smiles his impish grin. "But she never figured out it was a helix."1

And then there was Marella Herzog, a woman with a dog whistle that could call out the beast in me. I felt that if I could spend a week in her company I might grow back a full head of hair.

Willa was wearing a blue dress reminding me of the femme fatale of one of my favorite novels.

The sun is out and the game's afoot

We must remember that there's more than one story and plot in every novel. There are at least as many stories as there are main characters, and each of these stories has to have multiple plots to keep it going – blood and bone, nerve and tissue, forgotten longing and unknown events.

The gay world has been kept in hot water lately by the impudent publication of the celebrated Harriet Wilson, — — from earliest possibility, I suppose, who lived with half the gay world at hack and manger, and now obliges such as will not pay hushmoney with a history of whatever she

Tallow walked into Bat and Scarly's office to find Bat slumped on a chair with his head on the workbench, turned away from the door, while Scarly softly sharpened on old straight razor on a worn strop, watching her partner intently. I don't think he needs his eyebrows, do you? I mean, they don't serve an immediate function or anything, she whispered.

Now," he said, snapping the black blade open, "we have destroyed the teeth, crushed the face, and obliterated the fingerprints. And we have not been caught. We can therefore proceed with the first stage of carcass disposal. Fluid drainage." Amanda placed her hands together so quickly that they almost clapped. "Ooh," she said.