For how long can one maintain total vigilance?For how long can love last, in isolation, without sinking crushed beneath its own pressure?
Lymond was drawing long breaths now, his hands forced back rigid behind him, driven into the lime of the wall. ‘That is as far as I go,’ he said flatly. ‘I have never in my life subjected you to this...
Lymond ha vuelto
… You see,’ said Marthe. ‘I am not here to mock. I have worn out my revenge. You have guided me into a world which has been closed to me all my life. You have shown me that what I hold by, you hold by...
I rather think one of us drunk is sufficient.
I am trying to go back. I thought, believe it or not, that nothing could stop me from going back. I was wrong.
He didn’t always tell his father when it happened, because the old man’s face turned mottled blue over his doublet, and unless Will got in first, he would send a runner round all the estates, and the...
And habits are hell's own substitute for good intentions. Habits are the ruin of ambition, of initiative , of imagination. They're the curse of marriage and the after-bane of death.
Whether romance existed in him or not, sentimentality had no place at all.
Lymond is back.
Look. If you are having pains, scream. If you are seeing thousand-pound elephant birds with reinforced iron nests, tell us and we shall believe you. If you want to climb up and jump from the roof, let...
If you will excuse us?’‘Go to Sir Henry’s room,’ Lady Mary called after her. ‘And if you use weapons, be sure to call witnesses.
I grant, said Lady Buccleuch with a certain grim amusement, that the pure springs of chivalry may be a little muddy in the Hawick area, but that’s no proper excuse for calling his father an unprincipl...
How about that, my own brother, my own bright light, thou Igor?
We’ll do it,’ said Will Scott comfortably, shouting over the tumult. ‘If it’s no more than an hour, we’ll do it.’ ‘Christ, I believe you’re sorry, you flaming maniac,’ said Lymond. ‘Don’t I keep telli...
To save our friends’ nerves, I suggest we meet on a plane of brutal courtesy. It need not interfere with our mutual distrust. -Francis Crawford of Lymond
The trouble about Mr Crawford,’ said Kate, ‘is that he puts up with his enemies and plays merry hell with his friends.
The pain beating in his brows was beyond belief. He wanted only to go while he was still master of himself; before this primitive desire to devastate them both should overpower him.
Some love for a living,’ said Lymond. ‘And some kill.
Nine-tenths of every attack is bluff. The art is to know when to call it.