Robert Galbraith Quotes

Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve loved anyone, since, like you loved me.”
“No, I haven’t,” he said, “and thank fuck for that.

Then he closed his eyes, and like millions of his fellow humans, wondered why troubles could never come singly, but in avalanches, so that you became increasingly destabilized with every blow that hit you.

There are always loose ends in real life.

You can bloody hate someone and still wish they gave a shit about you and hate yourself for wishing it.

When you are young, and beautiful, you can be very cruel.

... it is hard to throw off long-established love: Hard, but this you must manage somehow...

He was sorry, genuinely sorry, for the pain she was in. Yet the revelation had caused certain other feelings — feelings he usually kept under tight rein, considering them both misguided and dangerous — to flex inside him, to test their strength against their restraining bonds.

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.

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.

Sense entered into a short, violent skirmish with instinct and inclination, and was overwhelmed.

In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance.

I think there are a lot of nutters in the world, and the less we reward them for their nuttery, the better for all of us.

You could find beauty nearly anywhere if you stopped to look for it,

Strike knew how deeply ingrained was the belief that the evil conceal their dangerous predilections for violence and domination. When they wear them like bangles for all to see, the gullible populace laughs, calls it a pose, or finds it strangely attractive.

Strike had always marvelled at the strange sanctity conferred upon celebrities by the public, even while the newspapers denigrated, hunted or hounded them. 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.