Quotes About Intrigue

If anyone asks," Michael called to him, "your name is Alfred.

Did Jameson tell you that I killed her?

Two," I said now, just as I had then, but this time I couldn't help wondering if Jameson was talking about a different kind of triangle—about him and Grayson and me.

I inadvertently overheard some things while my ear was casually pressed to this steel door

How long has this place been bricked up?

What in the world had I done to attract the attention of the FBI?

I was starting to believe that was what our country ran on—secret upon secret upon secret.

Each word the dead man said made this entire situation feel that much eerier. How much of what had happened since he'd died had he foreseen? Not just foreseen, but planned, moving us all around like pawns?

Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Jameson leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, then let the front legs drop down and leaned to whisper directly into my ear. "Toby Hawthorne is your father.

Three seconds later, Briggs and Sterling were inside the suite. I heard the door shut behind them. And then the feed went black.

Fancy meeting you here, Heiress." "You," I told him, "are the most annoying person on the face of the planet.

Xander maakte een buiginkje. 'Adieu.' In een flits was hij weer verdwenen. Binnen tien minuten zou er zeker weten iets ontploffen.

Eve stapte in en toen ik haar voorbeeld volgde vroeg ik me af of Pandora zich ook zo had gevoeld toen ze de doos openmaakte.

This didn't feel like a conversation I had any business overhearing, so I crept for the door to my room,

Knock, knock!" Xander stuck his head out the door to the roof. "I just happened to have my ear pressed to this door. I might have overheard some things, and I have a suggestion!

Iemand in deze kamer gaat me oprecht vermoorden.

Jij bent de glazen ballerina...of het mes.' - Nash Westbrook Hawthorne (De erfenis)

But the last girl at this school who got tangled up with the Hawthorne brothers? The last girl who spent hour after hour in that house? She died.

Wie zou mij nou dood willen hebben?' was tegenwoordig geen onzinnige vraag meer. Tegenwoordig was dat een vraag waar antwoorden op bestonden.

This is some double-oh-seven-level shift right here, Ave. I'm motherfaxing James Bond, motherfaxers!

All great lives should have at least one grand mystery.

Each photo is like a novel I can never open, Gary had explained once. I can hold it in my hand and only begin to imagine what's inside -- the lives these people might have led. Sometimes if there was a little clue on the photo - a name, date, or place - he'd try to research it...

The thing I can't, won't, mention to him is that I see Finch everywhere—in the hallways at school, on the street, in my neighborhood. Someone's face will remind me of him, or someone's walk or someone's laugh. It's like being surrounded by a thousand different Finches. I wonder if this is normal