Quotes by Louise Penny

People wandered in for books and conversation. They brought their stories to her, some bound, and some known by heart. She recognized some of the stories as real, and some as fiction. But she honored them all, though she didnt buy every one.

I was tired of seeing the Graces always depicted as beautiful young things. I think wisdom comes with age and life and pain. And knowing what matters.

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.

…and all the other tools that mistook information for knowledge

Clara shrugged and immediately knew her betrayal of Peter. In one easy movement shed distanced herself from his bad behavior, even thought she herself was responsible for it. Just before everyone had arrived, shed told Peter about her adventure with Gamache. Animated and excited shed 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 hed 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 Janes death?I thought youd be pleased, she half lied. She actually hadnt thought at all, and if she had, she probably could have predicted his reaction. But since he was comfortably on his Inuk island, shed retreat to hers, equipped with righteous indignation and warmed by moral certitude. She threw great logs of Im right, youre an unfeeling bastard onto the fire and felt secure and comforted.

Let every man shovel out his own snow, and the whole city will be passable, said Gamache. Seeing Beauvoirs puzzled expression he added, Emerson.Lake and Palmer?Ralph and Waldo.

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.

Eventually hed let the answering machine take over and had hidden in his studio. Where hes hidden all his life. From the monster. He could feel itin their bedroom now. He could feel its tail swishing by him. Feel its hot, fetid breath.All his life he knew if he was quiet enough, small enough, it wouldnnt see him. If he didnt make a fuss, didnt speak up, it wouldnt hear him, wouldnt hurt him. If he was beyond criticism and hid his cruelty with a smile and good deeds, it wouldnt devour him. By now he realized there was no hiding. It would always be there, and always find him. He was the monster.

Bang. You’re dead.’Gamache swung around, but had recognised the voice an instant after he’d begun to turn.‘You’re a sneak, Jean Guy. I’m going to have to put a cow bell on you.’‘Not again.’ It wasn’t often he could get the drop on the chief. But Beauvoir had begun to worry. Suppose he snuck up on Gamache sometime and he had a heart attack? It would certainly take the fun out of it.

You know for sure Jane would be annoyed she gave you all her money and you’re not even enjoying it. Should have given it to me.’ Myrna had shaken her head in mock bewilderment. ‘I’d have known what to do with it. Boom, down to Jamaica, a nice Rasta man, a good book—’‘Wait a minute. You have a Rasta man and you’re reading a book?’‘Oh, yes. Each has a purpose. For instance, a Rasta man is great when he’s hard, but not a book.’Clara had laughed. They shared a disdain for hard books. Not the content, but the cover. Hardcovers were simply too hard to hold, especially in bed.‘Unlike a Rasta man,’ said Myrna.

She put her hands together and Saul hoped she wasn’t about to say—‘Namaste,’ said CC, bowing. ‘He taught me that. Very spiritual.’She said ‘spiritual’ so often it had become meaningless to Saul.‘He said, CC Das, you have a great spiritual gift. You must leave this place and share it with the world. You must tell people to be calm.’As she spoke Saul mouthed the words, lip-synching to the familiar tune.‘CC Das, he said, you above all others know that when the chakras are in alignment all is white. And when all is white, all is right.’Saul wondered whether she was confusing an Indian mystic with a KKK member. Ironic, really, if she was.

Why did he kill his own mother?’ Ruth asked.‘The oldest story in the book,’ said Gamache.‘Ben was a male prostitute?’ Gabri exclaimed.‘That’s the oldest profession. Where do you keep your head?’ asked Ruth. ‘Never mind, don’t answer that.

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 doughboy 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.

She strong-armed the swinging door and walked through. Straight into an acid flashback.Clara’s first reaction was to laugh. She stood stunned for a moment then started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until she thought she’d piddle. Peter was soon infected and began laughing. And Gamache, who up until this moment had only seen a travesty, smiled, then chuckled, then laughed and within moments was laughing so hard he had to wipe away tears.‘Holy horrible taste, Batman,’ said Clara to Peter who doubled over, laughing some more.‘Solid, man, solid,’ he gasped and managed to raise a peace sign before having to put both hands on his knees to support his heaving body.

A lot of what we know to be history isn’t…it serves a purpose. Events are exaggerated, heroes fabricated, goals are rewritten to appear more noble than they actually were. All to manipulate public opinion, to manufacture a common purpose or enemy. And the cornerstone of a really great movement? A powerful symbol. Take away or tarnish that and everything starts to crumble, everything’s questioned.

When someone stabs you its not your fault that you feel pain.

Three Pines wasn’t on any tourist map, being too far off any main or even secondary road. Like Narnia, it was generally found unexpectedly and with a degree of surprise that such an elderly village should have been hiding in this valley all along. Anyone fortunate enough to find it once usually found their way back.

He had his treasure, but finally all he wanted was his family. And peace.

Where there is love there is courage,where there is courage there is peace,where there is peace there is God.And when you have God, you have everything.

Who hurt you, once, so far beyond repairthat you would meet each overturewith curling lip?While we, who knew you well, your friends, (the focus of your scorn)could see your courage in the face of fear,your wit, and thoughtfulness, and will remember you with something close to love.