Louise Penny
Life is change. If you aren't growing and evolving, you're standing still, and the rest of the world is surging ahead.
— Louise Penny
Life is choice. All day, every day. Who we talk to, where we sit, what we say, how we say it. And our lives become defined by our choices. It's as simple and as complex as that. And as powerful. So when I'm observing that's what I'm watching for. The choices people make
— Louise Penny
Life is choice. All day, every day. Who we talk to, where we sit, what we say, how we say it. And our lives become defined by our choices. It's as simple and as complex as that. And as powerful. So when I'm observing, that's what I'm watching for. The choices people make.
— Louise Penny
Loss was like that, Apache knew. You didn't just lose a loved one. You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged
— Louise Penny
Maybe this was now normal for Olivier. Maybe sometimes he simply wept. Not in pain or sadness. The tears were just overwhelming memories, rendered into water, seeping out.
— Louise Penny
Murder was deeply human. A person was killed and a person killed. And what powered the final thrust wasn't a whim, wasn't an event. It was an emotion. Something once healthy and human had become wretched and bloated and finally buried. But not put to rest. It lay there, often for decades, feeding on itself, growing and gnawing, grim and full of grievance. Until it finally broke free of all human restraint. Not conscience, not fear, not social convention could contain it. When that happened, all hell broke loose. And a man became a monster.
— Louise Penny
Myrna could spend happy hours browsing bookcases. She felt if she could just get a good look at a person’s bookcase and their grocery cart, she’d pretty much know who they were.
— Louise Penny
Nice hair.’ Olivier turned to Clara, hoping to break the tension.‘Thank you.’ Clara ran her hands through it, making it stand on end as though she’d just had a scare.‘You’re right.’ Olivier turned to Myrna. ‘She looks like a frightened dough boy from the trenches of Vimy. Not many people could carry off that look. Very bold, very new millennium. I salute you.’ Clara narrowed her eyes and glared at Myrna whose smile went from ear to ear.
— Louise Penny
Normally death came at night, taking a person in their sleep, stopping their heart or tickling them awake, leading them to the bathroom with a splitting headache before pouncing and flooding their brain with blood. It waits in alleys and metro stops. After the sun goes down plugs are pulled by white-clad guardians and death is invited into an antiseptic room. But in the country death comes, uninvited, during the day. It takes fishermen in their longboats. It grabs children by the ankles as they swim. In winter, it calls them down a slope too steep for their budding skills, and crosses their skies at the tips. It waits along the shore where snow met ice not long ago but now, unseen by sparkling eyes, a little water touches the shore, and the skater makes a circle slightly larger than intended. Death stands in the woods with a bow and arrow at dawn and dusk. And it tugs cars off the road in broad daylight, the tires spinning furiously on ice or snow, or bright autumn leaves.
— Louise Penny
Not everything buried is actually dead. For many, the past is alive.
— Louise Penny
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