Intrigue Quotes
Quotes tagged as "intrigue"
Showing 1-30 of 408

“It does little good to regret a choice. So often people say, “If only I had known,” implying they would’ve acted differently in a given situation. It is true that desires of the moment can blind one’s sight of the future. Revenge is not as sweet as the adage claims. Yet who could pass a chance to taste it? And if the chance were allowed to slip by, would the fool regret his lack of action? ”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Gossip is like thread wound over a spindle of truth, changing its shape.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Which is the greater sin? To care too much? Or too little?”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Buying loyalty can be as effective as fear when one’s rival is poorer than oneself.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Mead.
O sweet elixir,
Ye bless the lips and steal the wits.
”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
O sweet elixir,
Ye bless the lips and steal the wits.
”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Snake Street is an area I should avoid. Yet that night I was drawn there as surely as if I had an appointment.
The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park’s wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read ‘Kinship of the Serpent’. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would they remember me? Greet me as Kin? Or drive me out and curse me for faking my death? Worse, would they expect me to redon the life I’ve shed? Staring at that sign, I pissed in the street like the Mearan savage I’ve become.
As I started to leave, I saw a woman sitting in the gutter. Her lamp attracted me. A memsa’s lamp, three tiny flames to signify the Holy Trinity of Faith, Purity, and Knowledge. The woman wasn’t a memsa. Her young face was bruised and a gash on her throat had bloodied her clothing. Had she not been calmly assessing me, I would have believed the wound to be mortal. I offered her a copper.
She refused, “I take naught for naught,” and began to remove trinkets from a cloth bag, displaying them for sale.
Her Utte accent had been enough to earn my coin. But to assuage her pride I commented on each of her worthless treasures, fighting the urge to speak Utte. (I spoke Universal with the accent of an upper class Mearan though I wondered if she had seen me wetting the cobblestones like a shameless commoner.) After she had arranged her wares, she looked up at me. “What do you desire, O Noble Born?”
I laughed, certain now that she had seen my act in front of the Snake House and, letting my accent match the coarseness of my dress, I again offered the copper.
“Nay, Noble One. You must choose.” She lifted a strand of red beads. “These to adorn your lady’s bosom?”
I shook my head. I wanted her lamp. But to steal the light from this woman ... I couldn’t ask for it. She reached into her bag once more and withdrew a book, leather-bound, the pages gilded on the edges. “Be this worthy of desire, Noble Born?”
I stood stunned a moment, then touched the crescent stamped into the leather and asked if she’d stolen the book. She denied it. I’ve had the Training; she spoke truth. Yet how could she have come by a book bearing the Royal Seal of the Haesyl Line? I opened it. The pages were blank.
“Take it,” she urged. “Record your deeds for study. Lo, the steps of your life mark the journey of your soul.”
I told her I couldn’t afford the book, but she smiled as if poverty were a blessing and said, “The price be one copper. Tis a wee price for salvation, Noble One.”
So I bought this journal. I hide it under my mattress. When I lie awake at night, I feel the journal beneath my back and think of the woman who sold it to me. Damn her. She plagues my soul. I promised to return the next night, but I didn’t. I promised to record my deeds. But I can’t. The price is too high.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master
The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park’s wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read ‘Kinship of the Serpent’. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would they remember me? Greet me as Kin? Or drive me out and curse me for faking my death? Worse, would they expect me to redon the life I’ve shed? Staring at that sign, I pissed in the street like the Mearan savage I’ve become.
As I started to leave, I saw a woman sitting in the gutter. Her lamp attracted me. A memsa’s lamp, three tiny flames to signify the Holy Trinity of Faith, Purity, and Knowledge. The woman wasn’t a memsa. Her young face was bruised and a gash on her throat had bloodied her clothing. Had she not been calmly assessing me, I would have believed the wound to be mortal. I offered her a copper.
She refused, “I take naught for naught,” and began to remove trinkets from a cloth bag, displaying them for sale.
Her Utte accent had been enough to earn my coin. But to assuage her pride I commented on each of her worthless treasures, fighting the urge to speak Utte. (I spoke Universal with the accent of an upper class Mearan though I wondered if she had seen me wetting the cobblestones like a shameless commoner.) After she had arranged her wares, she looked up at me. “What do you desire, O Noble Born?”
I laughed, certain now that she had seen my act in front of the Snake House and, letting my accent match the coarseness of my dress, I again offered the copper.
“Nay, Noble One. You must choose.” She lifted a strand of red beads. “These to adorn your lady’s bosom?”
I shook my head. I wanted her lamp. But to steal the light from this woman ... I couldn’t ask for it. She reached into her bag once more and withdrew a book, leather-bound, the pages gilded on the edges. “Be this worthy of desire, Noble Born?”
I stood stunned a moment, then touched the crescent stamped into the leather and asked if she’d stolen the book. She denied it. I’ve had the Training; she spoke truth. Yet how could she have come by a book bearing the Royal Seal of the Haesyl Line? I opened it. The pages were blank.
“Take it,” she urged. “Record your deeds for study. Lo, the steps of your life mark the journey of your soul.”
I told her I couldn’t afford the book, but she smiled as if poverty were a blessing and said, “The price be one copper. Tis a wee price for salvation, Noble One.”
So I bought this journal. I hide it under my mattress. When I lie awake at night, I feel the journal beneath my back and think of the woman who sold it to me. Damn her. She plagues my soul. I promised to return the next night, but I didn’t. I promised to record my deeds. But I can’t. The price is too high.”
― Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Get up you lazy bastard. The Governor wants a word with you,” said a guard.
He opened his eyes and smiled. There was another guard standing near the cell door in
anticipation of any trouble. The prisoner smiled at him, too.
Now what can the Governor want from me? He wondered. His dishevelled form seemed
incapable of coherent thought. “It’s nice of him to remember me,” he said aloud, trying to
concentrate.
“Surprising he’s got any time for a worthless shit like you,” said the first guard.
“I once used to be a very important person,” the prisoner said feebly.”
― The Arbitrator
― The Arbitrator
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“He thrust his shoulders back and spoke in a whisper that sounded like the hiss of a snake.
‘Yes, the very battle between good and evil, played out even in the lowliest of lives like yours. Witches killing dogs because they did not get their favourite drink.”
― Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For
‘Yes, the very battle between good and evil, played out even in the lowliest of lives like yours. Witches killing dogs because they did not get their favourite drink.”
― Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“If you always try to subjugate people by coercion, because you are strong, then sooner or later you will run into somebody who is just as strong, if not stronger. Then you'll be in trouble.”
― The Polymorph
― The Polymorph

“Are you really a reporter?” asked Brown.
“You already asked me that. Come back to Levita, take the pardon.”
“I doubt I’ll live long enough to get there,” said Brown bitterly.
“I hope you survive. You are a fighter. And we have the antidote for your habit on
Levita. I suggest you take a vacation. There’s nothing much that’s going to happen here.”
With that she left, leaving Brown more confused than ever.
He was a father, he had a son. And, the Levitians had a cure for his drug-addled body.”
― The Arbitrator
― The Arbitrator

“Raya knew this type of girl – they never liked her. Usually they’d make fun of her, behind her back, but loud enough for her to hear. She was too alternative, too poor and too cynical – the foster kid – to be of any interest to these social climbers.”
― Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For
― Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Where’s everybody? I thought you had started production.”
“They’ve got a day off, but don’t worry you’ll see the machinery is here.”
But Brown was worried. As they entered the canteen, the lights came on
automatically. There was nobody there.
“What’s going…...” but he never finished the sentence. Brown felt a sharp pain on the
side of his head and everything went black.”
― The Arbitrator
― The Arbitrator

“She must feel like Lucifer’s frigid breath is running down the back of her delicate neck.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“I watched her undress with moonlight shivering across the room from behind sheer curtains that moved with the currents from the hearth fire.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“What the hell, if you are going to roll the dice with Lucifer, I say go the distance.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“I knew I rode a rugged crest of turmoil that might crash on the rocky shore of irrational behavior.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“The steps leading to the porch looked worn, cracked, and unpainted, ready for a nice hot fire.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“We’re so very sorry about this latest murder. Ignore Simon’s levity.”
― Murder on Family Grounds
― Murder on Family Grounds

“It was as if we played chess after denying me both bishops and knights.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“I swallowed a sigh since, truthfully, I was glad she found the cabin.”
― Death Leaves a Shadow
― Death Leaves a Shadow

“Where’s my uncle?” she asked.
“I don’t know who your uncle is, but if it as the guy who owned this place before I bought it, then he’s pushing up daisies.”
“But it can’t be, he’s still young.”
― The Three Witches and the Master
“I don’t know who your uncle is, but if it as the guy who owned this place before I bought it, then he’s pushing up daisies.”
“But it can’t be, he’s still young.”
― The Three Witches and the Master

“He says it was tourists being careless, where I see a fiendishly clever murder attempt.”
“Mr. McCarthy, you’d better explain.”
“Patrick, please. You’ll be tempted to laugh. It was a banana skin.”
― Murder on Family Grounds
“Mr. McCarthy, you’d better explain.”
“Patrick, please. You’ll be tempted to laugh. It was a banana skin.”
― Murder on Family Grounds
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