Beauvoir left their home wanting to call his wife and tell her how much he loved her, and then tell her what he believed in, and his fears and hopes and disappointments. To talk about something real and meaningful. He dialed his cell phone and got her. But the words got caught somewhere south of his throat. Instead, he told her the weather had cleared, and she told him about the movie she'd rented. Then they both hung up.

— Louise Penny

Beauvoir was quiet, watching the Chief, taking in the gleam in his eye, the enthusiasm as he described what he'd found. Not the physical landscape, but the emotional. The intellectual. Many might have thought the Chief Inspector was a hunter. He tracked down killers. But Jean Guy knew he wasn't that. Chief Inspector Gama he was an explorer by nature. He was never happier than when he was pushing the boundaries, exploring the internal terrain. Areas even the person themselves hadn't explored. Had never examined. Probably because it was too scary.

— Louise Penny

…believing sarcasm and rude remarks kept the monsters at bay. They didn’t.

— Louise Penny

But we don't have to react. That's what I'm saying. A police force, like a government, should be above that. Just because we're provoked doesn't mean we have to act. -- Still Life

— Louise Penny

But you knew what would happen. Why would you choose to walk right into a situation where you know the person is going to be hurtful? It kills me to see you do that, and you do it all the time. It's like a form of insanity. - Peter Morrow You call it insanity, I call it optimism. - Clara Morrow

— Louise Penny

Clara shrugged and immediately knew her betrayal of Peter. In one easy movement she'd distanced herself from his bad behavior, even thought she herself was responsible for it. Just before everyone had arrived, she'd told Peter about her adventure with Apache. Animated and excited she'd gabbled on about her box and the woods and the exhilarating climb up the ladder to the blind. But her wall of words hid from her a growing quietude. She failed to notice his silence, his distance, until it was too late, and he'd retreated all the way to his icy island. She hated that place. From it, he stood and stared, judged, and lobbed shards of sarcasm.' You and your hero solve Jane's death?'' I thought you'd be pleased,' she half lied. She actually hadn't thought at all, and if she had, she probably could have predicted his reaction. But since he was comfortably on his Ink island, she'd retreat to hers, equipped with righteous indignation and warmed by moral certitude. She threw great logs of 'I'm right, you're an unfeeling bastard' onto the fire and felt secure and comforted.

— Louise Penny

Conscience. Imagine being pursued by your own conscience…. A mountain of conscience. Throwing a lengthening shadow. Growing. Darkening.

— Louise Penny

Don't be so sure," said Apache. "It's a little humbling to realize the pedestal isn't quite so high after all." Brebeuf chuckled. "Welcome to earth, Armand. It's a little dirty down here.

— Louise Penny

Don't mistake dramatics for a conscience.

— Louise Penny

Do you know the sums that I do?” “I count my blessings.

— Louise Penny