Louise Penny Quotes

Your brain is your weapon.

…the pain of neuralgia…she knew what they thought. That she was cold. Couldn't feel. But in fact she felt too much. Too deeply.

The night is a strawberry.

I just sit where I'm put, composed
of stone and wishful thinking:
That the deity that kills for pleasure will also
heal,
That in the midst of your nightmare,
the final one, a kind lion will pick your soul
up gently
by the nape of the neck,
And caress you into darkness and paradise.

~ Ruth Zardo, poet and character in All The Devils Are Here

Most of us are great with change, as long it was our idea. But change imposed from the outside can send some people into a tailspin. - Myrna Landers

Her tragedy was that she always found men to save her. She never had to save herself. She never knew she could.

When a woman commits to something she does it with both her heart and her head. Very powerful.

Death sits on my shoulder like a crow … Or a judge, muttering about sluts and punishment. And licking his lips.

As the boys screamed and hauled off handfuls of mulch, Olivier had slowly, deliberately, gently taken Gabri’s hand and held it before gracefully lifting it to his lips. The boys had watched, momentarily stunned, as Olivier had kissed Gabri’s manure-stained hand with his manure-stained lips. The boys had seemed petrified by this act of love and defiance. But just for a moment. Their hatred triumphed and soon their attack had re-doubled.

One of the elders told him that when he was a boy his grandfather came to him one day and said he had two wolves fighting inside him. One was gray, the other black. The gray one wanted his grandfather to be courageous, and patient, and kind. The other, the black one, wanted his grandfather to be fearful and cruel. This upset the boy, and he thought about it for a few days then returned to his grandfather. He asked, 'Grandfather, which of the wolves will win?'

The abbot smiled slightly and examined the Chief Inspector. 'Do you know what his grandfather said?'

Gamache shook his head. . . .

'The one I feed,' said Dom Philippe.

told him the four sentences that lead to wisdom. He’d said them only once, never repeating them. But once had been enough for Gamache. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I need help. I don’t know.

He walked over the arched stone bridge, enjoying the silence of the village. Snow did that. It laid down a simple, clean duvet that muffled all sound and kept everything beneath alive. Farmers and gardeners in Quebec wished for two things in winter: lots of snow and continuous cold. An early thaw was a disaster. It tricked the young
and vulnerable into exposing themselves, only to be nipped in the root. A killing frost.

In the kitchen Gamache’s German shepherd, Henri, sat up in his bed and cocked his head. He had huge oversized ears which made Gamache think he wasn’t purebred but a cross between a shepherd and a satellite dish.

They’d crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn’t. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs. And they knew something the rest didn’t. They knew how lucky the rest of the world was.

"Despite himself, Beauvoir laughed. "There is strong shadow where there is much light."

...

But most he loved a happy human face."