Top 100 Robert Galbraith Quotes
#1. How could the death of someone you had never met affect you so?
Robert Galbraith
#2. He had almost fallen asleep on top of Elin last night, and counted it among the week's few small achievements that he had finished the job, at least.
Robert Galbraith
#3. Strike noticed that, in spite of Duffield's air of disorientation and distress, he had made a good job of applying his eyeliner.
Robert Galbraith
#4. Emma Watson in white on the cover of Vogue ("The Super Star Issue"),
Robert Galbraith
#5. Robin did not know why the announcement that Strike was off to meet Elin should lower her spirits.
Robert Galbraith
#6. Writers are a savage breed, Mr. Strike. If you want life-long friendship and selfless camaraderie, join the army and learn to kill. If you want a lifetime of temporary alliances with peers who will glory in your every failure, write novels.
Robert Galbraith
#7. The instantaneous shift from calm to calamity. The slowing of time. Every sense suddenly wire-taut and screaming.
Robert Galbraith
#8. Judging by the lopsided way she was hunched, with one hand buried deep under the lapel of her coat, Strike deduced that he had saved her by grabbing a substantial part of her left breast.
Robert Galbraith
#9. She thought it might be the very first time that Strike had ever given any indication that he saw her as a woman, and she silently filed away the exchange to pore over later, in solitude.
Robert Galbraith
#11. In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance.
Robert Galbraith
#12. The story, like all the best stories, split like an amoeba, forming an endless series of new stories and opinion pieces and speculative articles, each spawning its own counter chorus.
Robert Galbraith
#14. Sense entered into a short, violent skirmish with instinct and inclination, and was overwhelmed.
Robert Galbraith
#17. Holly was playing the concerned relative, the devoted sister, and if it was a ham performance Robin was experienced enough, now, to know that there were usually nuggets of truth to be sifted from even the most obvious dross.
Robert Galbraith
#18. He's a writer," she said, as though this explained everything. "He's disappeared before?" "He's emotional," she said, her expression glum. "He's always going off on one, but it's been ten days and I know he's really upset but I need him home now.
Robert Galbraith
#19. Experience had taught Strike that there was a certain type of woman to whom he was unusually attractive. Their common characteristics were intelligence and the flickering intensity of badly wired lamps.
Robert Galbraith
#20. Like other inveterate womanizers Strike had encountered, Duffield's voice and mannerisms were slightly camp. Perhaps such men became feminized by prolonged immersion in women's company, or perhaps it was a way of disarming their quarry.
Robert Galbraith
#21. He had spent much of his childhood perched on the coast, with the taste of salt in the air: this was a place of woodland and river, mysterious and secretive in a different way from St. Mawes, the little town with its long smuggling history, where colorful houses tumbled down to the beach.
Robert Galbraith
#23. Strike was becoming steadily more taciturn, his expression brooding. Robin wondered whether this was because he was hungry - he was a man who needed regular sustenance to maintain an equable mood - or for some darker reason.
Robert Galbraith
#24. A marked desire to be considered more than he felt himself to be; to become endowed, in fact, with that unpredictable, dangerous and transformative quality: fame.
Robert Galbraith
#25. He just saw her for what she was. She was no good. Some women,' she said, her chest heaving beneath the shapeless raincoat, 'aren't.
Robert Galbraith
#26. Writers are different," said Waldegrave. "I've never met one who was any good who wasn't screwy.
Robert Galbraith
#27. Birthdays in Lucy's world were always celebrated, never forgotten: there must be cake and candles and cards and presents; time must be marked, order preserved, traditions upheld.
Robert Galbraith
#28. He handed her her pills and the cup; her hands trembled; he had to support the saucer and he thought, inappropriately, of a priest offering communion.
Robert Galbraith
#29. [He] looked as thought he had been carved out of soft ebony by a master hand that had grown bored with its own expertise, and started to veer towards the grotesque.
Robert Galbraith
#30. Strike felt abnormally huge and hairy; a woolly mammoth attempting to blend in among capuchin monkeys.
Robert Galbraith
#32. Good though his eyesight was, however, he would have been unlikely to spot the Stanley knife being turned rhythmically between long, fine fingers.
Robert Galbraith
#33. Perhaps she had received diamonds, Strike thought; she had always said she didn't care for such things, but when they argued the glitter of all he could not give her had sometimes been flung back hard in his face ...
Robert Galbraith
#35. it was weird. Would you believe it if some supermodel called you up and told you she was your sister?'
Strike thought of his own bizarre family history.
'Probably,' he said.
Robert Galbraith
#36. Strike registered the pronounced asymmetry of his pale blue eyes, one of which was a good centimeter higher than the other. It gave him an oddly vulnerable look, as though he had been finished in a hurry.
Robert Galbraith
#38. You're like everyone else, Strike; you want your civil liberties when you've told the missus you're at the office and you're at a lap-dancing club, but you want twenty-four-hour surveillance on your house when someone's trying to force your bathroom window open. Can't have it both ways.
Robert Galbraith
#40. The model? Whoa.' But Spanner's interest in human beings, even when dead or famous, was still secondary to his fondness for rare comics, technological innovation, and bands of which Strike had never heard.
Robert Galbraith
#41. You could find beauty nearly anywhere if you stopped to look for it, but the battle to get through the days made it easy to forget that this totally cost-free luxury existed.
Robert Galbraith
#43. He had hoped to spot the flickering shadow of a murderer as he turned the file's pages, but instead it was the ghost of Lula herself who emerged, gazing up at him, as victims of violent crimes sometimes did, through the detritus of their interrupted lives.
Robert Galbraith
#44. She couldn't understand a vocation. Some people can't; at best, work's about status and pay cheques for them, it hasn't got value in itself.
Robert Galbraith
#45. so he sat smoking on the sofa with the lower trouser leg hanging empty towards the floor, lost in thought.
Robert Galbraith
#47. Handsome in the manner of an Aryan prince, possessor of a trust fund, born to fulfill a preordained place in his family and the world; a man with all the confidence twelve generations of well-documented lineage can give.
Robert Galbraith
#49. It was difficult for him to decide whether she was sincere, or performing her own character; her beauty got in the way, like a thick cobweb through which it was difficult to see her clearly.
Robert Galbraith
#50. Suicides, in his experience, were perfectly capable of feigning an interest in a future they had no intention of inhabiting.
Robert Galbraith
#51. The whole world's writing novels, but nobody's reading them.
Robert Galbraith
#52. Oh," said Tansy.
The monosyllable contained equal parts of surprise and disdain.
Robert Galbraith
#53. he talked until their food arrived, littering his chat with references to 'ninety k' and 'a quarter of a mill', and every sentence was angled, like a mirror, to show him in the best possible light: his cleverness, his quick thinking, his besting of slower, stupider yet more senior colleagues...
Robert Galbraith
#54. One mellows almost without realizing it's a compensation of age, because anger is exhausting.
Robert Galbraith
#55. Being sworn at by random people was the price you paid for living in London,
Robert Galbraith
#58. Hard to remember these days that there was a time you had to wait for the ink and paper reviews to see your work excoriated. With the invention of the internet, any subliterate cretin can be Michiko Kakutani.
Robert Galbraith
#59. I'd imagine "murderess" trumps "wife" when defining a close relationship.
Robert Galbraith
#60. There was, she noticed, a fragment of frozen pea caught in the setting of her engagement ring.
Robert Galbraith
#61. Insouciance, he was edgy. Why didn't he ask why Strike was there? Or did
Robert Galbraith
#62. Yet here she sat on the sofa, working rather than dealing with the subject that seemed to fill the small flat, pressing against the walls, keeping the atmosphere perpetually stiff with tension. Commentators
Robert Galbraith
#63. Bestigui, who was five feet six inches at the most, had pushed his way out from behind his desk now; as unafraid of the enormous Strike as a pit bull whose yard has been invaded by a Rottweiler.
Robert Galbraith
#64. That's how the rich stay rich, ain't it? They didn' need it, but they didn' mind a bit more.
Robert Galbraith
#65. She had drawn strength from everyone else's weakness, hoping that her adrenaline-fueled bravery would carry her safely back to normality,
Robert Galbraith
#67. No matter how many famous people were convicted of rape or murder, still the belief persisted, almost pagan in its intensity: not him. It couldn't be him. He's famous.
Robert Galbraith
#69. Had she learned how to compose her face into its most photogenic arrangement, to project emotion so beautifully? Or had she simply been a pellucid surface through which her feelings naturally shone?
Robert Galbraith
#70. A masterpiece produced by an indecipherable cocktail of races, Kolovas-Jones's skin was
Robert Galbraith
#71. But the lies she told were woven into the fabric of her being, her life; so that to live with her and love her was to become slowly enmeshed by them, to wrestle her for the truth, to struggle to maintain foothold on reality.
Robert Galbraith
#72. Strike was used to playing archaeologist among the ruins of people's traumatised memories;
Robert Galbraith
#73. In the inverted food chain of fame, it was the big beasts who were stalked and hunted
Robert Galbraith
#74. More pre-Christmas revelers on the Friday-night Tube: girls in ludicrously tiny glittering dresses risking hypothermia for a fumble with the boy from Packaging.
Robert Galbraith
#75. She is a woman of an excellent assurance, and an extraordinary happy wit, and tongue. Ben Jonson, Epicoene, or The Silent Woman
Robert Galbraith
#76. Hers was the kind of family that commissioned painters to immortalize its young: a background utterly alien to Strike, and one he had come to know like a dangerous foreign country.
Robert Galbraith
#77. Though they spent so much time trying to make themselves beautiful, you were not supposed to admit to women that beauty mattered.
Robert Galbraith
#78. Women were so petty, mean, dirty and small. Sulky bitches, the lot of them, expecting men to keep them happy. Only when they lay dead and empty in front of you did they become purified, mysterious and even wonderful.
Robert Galbraith
#80. They walked fifty yards in silence, and Strike had lit up a cigarette before he said: "Very, very impressive." Robin glowed with pride.
Robert Galbraith
#81. Parky, isn't it?" Strike said to the frowning constable and her companion as he and Robin walked back past them.
Robert Galbraith
#82. Hearing her tell Wardle about the disposable wedding cameras she had ordered had brought home to Strike how soon she would become Mrs. Matthew Cunliffe. There's still time, he thought. For what, he did not specify, even to himself.
Robert Galbraith
#83. However, Strike knew that the truly deluded would happily discount such trivialities as DNA evidence, citing contamination, or conspiracy. They saw what they wanted to see, blind to inconvenient, implacable truth.
Robert Galbraith
#84. Matthew would not like this, she had said. He would have liked it even less had he know how much Strike had liked it.
Robert Galbraith
#85. She's just tried to bloody knife me, Robin!"
"Well, she didn't manage it, did she?" commented Robin, busy with the kettle.
"Ineptitude," said Strike incredulously, "is no fucking defense under the law!
Robert Galbraith
#86. If you spot anything, or you think of anything I haven't, tell me, won't you?" This was rather thrilling: Robin prided herself on her observational powers; they were one reason she had secretly cherished the childhood ambition that the large man beside her was living.
Robert Galbraith
#87. Will you turn on the radio? I fancy a bit of music," she said. "Louder than that, sweetie. Oh, I love this." "Telephone" by Lady Gaga filled the car.
Robert Galbraith
#88. Do whatever you want with this dedication, but don't - don't - use it on your eyebrows.
Robert Galbraith
#89. He had never been able to understand the assumption of intimacy fans felt with those they had never met.
Robert Galbraith
#90. If you want a lifetime of temporary alliances with peers who will glory in your every failure, write novels. Strike
Robert Galbraith
#91. We don't love each other; we love the idea we have of each other. Very few humans understand this or can bear to contemplate it. They have blind faith in their own powers of creation. All love, ultimately, is self-love.
Robert Galbraith
#92. Don't turn your back, don't show your profile, You'll never know when it's your turn to go.
Robert Galbraith
#93. Is demum miser est, cuius nobilitas miserias nobilitat. Unhappy is he whose fame makes his misfortunes famous. Lucius Accius, Telephus
Robert Galbraith
#94. Lined the walls. Didn't he live in St. Michael's Mount, the giant Cormoran?
Robert Galbraith
#95. Seven and a half million hearts were beating in close proximity in this heaving old city, and many, after all, would be aching far worse than his.
Robert Galbraith
#96. The brutal intrusion of officialdom into private devastation.
Robert Galbraith
#97. He felt as though his capacity for loving had been blunted, the nerve endings severed. He
Robert Galbraith
#98. Humans often assumed symmetry and equality where none existed.
Robert Galbraith
#99. Doesn't anyone ever call you that, among all your many nicknames?' she wondered as they walked back through to the hall. 'Call me what?' '"Lightning" Strike?
Robert Galbraith
#100. It's that wounded-poet crap, that soul-pain shit, that too-much-of-a-tortured-genius-to-wash bollocks. Brush your teeth, you little bastard. You're not fucking Byron.
Robert Galbraith
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