Gail Carriger Quotes

The bowl landed, in glorious perfection, atop the head of Mrs Barnaclegoose, who was not the kind of woman to appreciate the finer points of being crowned by trifle.

At such close range, even she could hit a vampire full force in the shoulder, surprising him considerably. He paused in his attack. “Well, my word! You can’t threaten me, you’re pregnant!

Ah, no, deployment was delayed after you left. Technical difficulties.” “Oh?” “Yes, it was technically difficult to leave a heartbroken Alpha.

Really, Channing,” remonstrated Alexia, “did you have to eat the man’s dog? I am convinced you will experience terrible indigestion.

Professor Lyall, cursing his Alpha for departing so precipitously, balled up the piece of paper and, after minor consideration for the delicacy of the information it contained, ate it.

How was I to know idiocy was only a temporary condition, especially in your case? It never has been before!

Biffy didn't like enigmas - they were out of fashion.

Alphas simply did not grovel; arrogance was part of the job description.

Lyall had spent centuries nibbling about the great layered cake that was polite society while Lord Akeldama acted the part of the frosting on its top.

Ever since her trip with Alexia to Scotland, Mrs. Tunstell had rather a taste for foreign travel. Alexia blamed it on the kilts.

His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.

Alexia abhorred hypocrisy, especially when munitions were involved.

He dinna act like an Alpha." "He does in some areas.

These feelings you engender in me, my lord, are most indelicate. You should stop causing them immediately.

No, Lord Maccon was riproaring, tumble down, without a doubt, pickled beyond the gherkin.

She filed the image away as an excellent and insulting question to ask the earl at an utterly inappropriate future moment.

So, what do you think, my dear, will it be a girl or a boy?” “It will be a soul-stealer, apparently.” “What!” The earl reared away from his wife and looked down at her suspiciously.

Ah, Ivy, thought Alexia happily, spreading a verbal fog wherever she goes.

The vampire's eyes were open, and he was staring at her intently. It was as though he were trying to speak to her with simply the power of a glare. Alexia did not speak glare-ish.

Oh, Herbert," she said pleadingly to her silent husband, "you must make him marry her! Call for the parson immediately! Look at them... they are...," she sputtered, "canoodling!

Stop playing verbal games with me, madam, or I shall go out into that ballroom, find your mother, and bring her here

He is clearly bookish. I did not follow a single word of their conversation at dinner last night, not one jot of it. He must be bookish.

They decided the mummy would be unwrapped, for the titillation of the ladies, just after dinner.

Madame Lefoux shrugged. "I do not know about that, my lady. I mean to say, one's life is one thing; one's technology is an entirely different matter.

You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.

I have died and gone to the land of bad novels.

Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.

As if being a former vampire drone in a werewolf household were not shocking enough, the maid then opened her mouth and proved that she was also, quite reprehensibly, French.

His lordship can eat my fat—

A woman, even a married woman, cannot float without proper escort. It is simply not done.

Such poopitations of the heart as you would not believe.

Rail is such an undignified way to travel. All that rapid racing about. Floating has so much more gravitas.

Really, Alexia, what could have possessed you to attach yourself to the side of the ship in such a juvenile fashion? It is positively barnacle-like.

Alexia,” she hissed to her friend, “there are knees positively everywhere. What do I do?

What did you do?” “Well, you see, there was this pot of tea, simply sitting there…” He trailed off. “Useful thing, tea,” commented Lyall thoughtfully.

My petal. Westminster’s toy had tea issues. Thank Biffy and Lyall. Toodle pip. A.

Mrs. Loontwill did what any well-prepared mother would do upon finding her unmarried daughter in the arms of a gentleman werewolf: she had very decorous, and extremely loud, hysterics.

Very well, Lord Maccon. If we are going to play this particular hand, would you be interested in becoming my...” “Mistress?

A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.

"My father," she admitted, "was of Italian extraction. Unfortunately, not an affliction that can be cured." She paused. "Though he did die."

Lord Maccon looked up. “Grovel, you say?” Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. “Grovel, my lord.

Uh, my lord, I am not actually food. You do realize this, yes?

These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.

I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!

Really, Sophronia, it makes me most uncomfortable how you manage to sort everything out every time I faint.

I'd rather be loyal than right.

A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age.

Lord Maccon was built like a brick outhouse, with opinions twice as unmoving and often equally full of crap.

If there is gossip to be garnered, garner it. If there are new dress styles to be imitated, imitate them. If there are hearts to be broken, break them. That's my girls.

What do you want?" Sophronia was moved to exasperation. "Me? Stockings and breeches to come back in fashion. I do miss seeing a man's calves.