Gail Carriger Quotes

The tea, once it arrived, had its customary effect - engendering comfort and loosening the tongue. That's tea for you, thought Sophronia, the great social lubricant.

Tunstell, this is your Alpha speaking. Do as I tell you. You must regurgitate now.
Regurgitation is an involuntary action. You cannot simply order me to do it," replied Tunstell in a small voice.
"I most certainly can. Besides which, you are an actor."
Tunstell grimaced. "I've never had cause to vomit onstage.

She was not undead, mind you; she was a living, breathing human but was simply ... lacking.

Sometimes I can even pick up messages intended for other aethographors." He frowned a moment. "Story of my life, if you think about it.

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.

I like to spoof the original Gothic classics, so there is also good dose of comedy in the 'Parasol Protectorate' - giggling readers are good.

Excellent. Ignorance is most undervalued in a student.

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

Felix looked as if he had been given some kind of caped weasel - part gift, part insult, part utter confusion. Thank you, I think.

Nice prong," said Sophronia after a moment.
Felix grinned and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "Thank you for saying so."
Sophronia was instantly suspicious. "You mean that isn't a ballistic exploding steam missile fire prong?"
"No such thing, my dear Ria, but it certainly sounds wicked, doesn't it?"
"Then what is it?"
He handed the evil-looking object over. "Ah, a portable boot-blackening apparatus with pressure-controlled particulate emissions, and attached accoutrement to achieve the highest possible shine. For the stylish gentleman on the go.

Coming to the ball, Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott?"
"Ball? If you insist." Pillover slid off his trunk, and Roger jumped down to help him load it into the cart.
"Ball?" said one of the Pistons with interest. "We like balls."
Dimity gave them her best, most haughty look. "Yes, but are you certain they like you?

Not Alec Weebs? Never! Biffy was appreciatively shocked.

Alexia sighed. "It is times like this I wish I could talk to my mother."
"Good gracious, what good would that do, madam?" Floote was moved to speak by the outrageousness of Alexia's statement.
"Well, whatever she said, I could simply take the opposite point of view.

The Gamma paused. "You have a crazed werewolf in your wine cellar?"
"You can think of a better place to stash him?"
"What about the wine?

A rescuer appeared out of the forest.
"You screamed, madam?"
"Why, Lord Mersey, what are you doing here?"
"Following you, of course. Spot of bother?"
"Little bit of one, yes."
The young man looked with interest at Sophronia's opponents, one holding a collapsed Dimity, one bleeding from a gash to the arm, and the third bleeding from a wound to the back.
"My dear Ria, you hardly need my help."
"Hardly.

Even Alexia, spinster that she was, was given an allowance large enough to dress her to the height of fashion - although she did tend to stick to trends a little too precisely. The poor thing could not help it. Her choice of clothing simply lacked soul.

Like to go somewhere more private and be scandalous some more?

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.

Ball?" said one of the Pistons with interest. "We like balls."
Dimity gave them her best, most haughty look. "Yes, but are you certain they like you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sophronia whispered to her.
Pillover joined them, as confident in his new situation as if he had always expected to set off with his sister and two other girls in a farm cart.
"I don't know," replied Dimity as they drove away. "It sounded good at the time.

When all else fails, dress beautifully and throw your food.

No wife ever cleared a man's character, not without a great deal of trouble on the lower decks. So

My sister is a woman of mean understanding," explained Lady Maccon apologetically.
"And what are you?" asked Sedheag.
"Oh, I am simply mean.

Oh, Lady Maccon, I am unreservedly in love with her. That black hair, that sweet disposition, those capital hats.

If that Alpha wanted to dash off into the jungle with a mysterious goddess on her back on a whimsical evening run in the middle of a prospective battle, they would go with her.

Soap understood her. Soap would always understand.

After four marriages, and four deaths, she had everything in life a woman might desire: titled position, swollen coffers, the freedom to travel, and a world that accepted her because it was afraid of her.

Sensing a favourable shift, Prim called for celebratory muffins and jam. Muffins and jam seemed to sooth everyone's temper, particularly the Alpha Vanara's whose delight in the jam was that of a child discovering blancmange for the first time. Rue could sympathise. She often felt that way about really good jam, not to mention blancmange. And this was, after all, gooseberry.

I like fish," chirruped Tunstell.
"Really, Mr. Tunstell? What is your preferred breed?"
"Well"
Tunstell hesitated
"you know, the um, ones that"
he made a swooping motion with both hands
"uh, swim.

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I like powerful women, and I gravitate to any point in history when a female has significant power. I can spend hours researching any such amazing lady, from Ching Shih to Hatshepsut to Boudica to Zenobia.

Can you imagine...the detrimental effect on your marriage prospects, to be found unchaperoned in a library with a dead vampire!

Rue was not above fabricating fate, if it would not be tempted.

Lord Maccon, being Lord Maccon and good at such things, then changed, right there in the Thames, from dog-paddling wolf to large man treading water. He did so flawlessly, so that his head never went under the water. Professor Lyall suspected him of practicing such maneuvers in the bathtub.

Cats liked to occupy liminal spaces: both inside and outside, both tame and wild, both yawn and meow.

Trust me, darling, it is never a good idea to have too many queens in one place, let alone one palace." "To

Is there no peace for the naked?" Sister Mattie wore a bed cap of sensible white lace.
"I think you mean peace for the wicked," corrected Lady Linette ...
"Why would that apply?" asked Sister Mattie, before closing her door on both the problem and the noise.

Let us be perfectly clear here," said Squire Loontwill. "You are willing to marry our Alexia, even though she is ... well ... ," he floundered. Felicity came to his rescue. "Old." Evylin added, "And plain." "And tan," said Felicity. The squire continued. "And so extraordinarily assertive.

A girl wearing a wicker chicken and playing the harp bopped me with a book about buns and then stuffed me under a piano.

Miss Wigglesworth gave him an assessing look out of her remarkable blue eyes.
"You're a libertine? How very unique."
She gave a small fake yawn. She was, in that heartbeat, so perfect and so pure and so very dangerous indeed that all he could do was frighten her away.
"Have you been listening at keyholes, Lazuli? I assure you, they have always been willing, even when I ask that they pretend otherwise."
She blushed deep pink at that – an appealing thing, the blood high under her cheeks, warm and subtle and alive. He wanted to delve into her, with teeth and body until she was ravaged and supine and wrecked and bleeding and his. She did not, as he had expected, break away from him mid-step. The blush was there, to be sure, but she was made of sterner stuff. Any true innocent would be repulsed by the intent in his tone. A woman without experience would fear the implication of his preferences – the certain acknowledgment that there was wolf, nothing but wolf, underneath all his icy indifference. Faith was intrigued. She tilted her head and looked hard at him, her lovely eyes flinty.
"So, you're just a beast who enjoys the chase, nothing else?"
"Exactly so."
She threw it all at him. Like a piece of warm fresh meat, cut and dripping temptation, enough to make him salivate, to bait her trap.
"You can't catch me."
The waltz ended.

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.

Pretty as a pineapple," pronounced

Sophronia felt bound to object. "I, for one, should prefer not to shoot at someone I like."
"Admirable scruples, Miss Temminnick. Get over them. For you will do it anyway.

Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and very few of them were actually supernatural. She

I am beginning to understand," she said in a quiet, deadly voice, "who is the monster. What you are doing is farther from natural than vampires or werewolves could ever get. You are profaning creation, not only with this" - she gestured rudely with her thumb at the automaton holding her tightly - "but with that." She pointed to the machine with its suckerlike metal tubes reaching hungrily inside the body of her dear friend. The horrible contraption seemed to be drinking him dry, more hungry for blood than any vampire she had ever seen. "It is you, Mr. Siemons, who is the abomination.

Most girls recently out of finishing school are like soufflés: puffed up, not very substantial inside, and prone to collapsing at the slightest provocation.

Who suffers more, the gentleman in the badly tied cravat or those who must look upon him?

He has been mad for you these many months, ever since you prodded him in the nether regions with a hedgehog.

For you, it's gossip. For me, it's action.

All the London ton acknowledged Scotland as a barbaric place. The packs there cared very little for the social niceties of daytime folk. Highland werewolves had a reputation for doing atrocious and highly unwarranted things, like wearing smoking jackets to the dinner table. Lyall shivered at the delicious horror of the very idea.

You will be the death of me. But such a lovely way to go.

Rafe was still obviously a predator, large and fierce and deadly. But there were humans like that too, and he'd found a group of them in a corner. Rough, ready, angry men, cracked like leather beneath the weight of the world's use. Standing with them, Rafe could still be one of the things that went bump in the night, just closer to home. The world hid all kinds of monsters – some had too many teeth and some had too much gin

What the hell is that?" yelled Lord Maccon. He had turned to anger so swiftly; Alexia could only stare at him, speechless.
She let out her pent-up breath in a whoosh. Her heart was beating a marathon somewhere in the region of her throat, her skin felt hot and stretched taut over her bones, and she was damp in places she was tolerably certain unmarried gentlewomen were not supposed to be damp in.
Lord Maccon was glaring at her coffee-colored skin, discolored between the neck and shoulder region by an ugly purple mark, the size and shape of a man's teeth.
"that is a bite mark, my lord," she said.
Lord Maccon was ever more enraged. "Who bit you?" he roared.
Alexia tilted her head to one side in amazement. "You did." She was then treated to the spectacle of an Alpha werewolf looking downright hangdog.
"I did?"
She raised both eyebrows at him.
"I did.

With his wife's imperious face peering down at him, Lord Maccon took a moment to wonder why he had thought to crave such a woman in his life. Alexia bent over and nibbled at his chest. Ah, yes, initiative and ingenuity.

Sheep?"
"Sheep."
"Sheep!"
...
"Yes, as in baaaa.

"Sheep."
"Sheep!"
...
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"Sheep."
"Sheep!"
...
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As much as she was enjoying it, Dimity would always rather talk about reading than actually read.

Just a short visit, enough for a mild dismemberment?

To the best of my knowledge, my youngest reader is 10 and the oldest is 95.

She investigated further: moving along with little kisses down his throat and over his collarbone until she came to the same location on his neck that on hers was currently a decorative black and blue color. She bit him. Hard. Alexia never did anything by halves.

The boy gestured with his chin at Dimity. "She was shot." He sounded remarkably unconcerned for a brother with any degree of affection for his sibling."Good lord!" Sophronia climbed in to see to her new friend's health. The bullet had grazed Dimity's shoulder. It had ripped her dress and left a partly burned gash behind, but didn't look all that bad. Sophronia checked to make certain Dimity had no other injuries. Then she sat back on her heels."Is that all? I've had worse scrapes from drinking tea. Why has she come over all crumpled?"Pillover rolled his eyes. "Faints at the sight of blood, our Dimity. Always has. Weak nerves,father says. It doesn't even have to be her blood.

She was so beautiful it hurt, like breathing deep on an icy evening. She was all exotically strong features, tea-with-milk complexion, and long, thick dark hair. It was most upsetting, or would have been, if she hadn't been so nice about it.

Yet he moved toward her, darkly shimmering out of the library shadows with feeding fangs ready. However, the moment he touched Miss Tarabotti, he was suddenly no longer darkly doing anything at all. He was simply standing there, the faint sounds of a string quartet in the background as he foolishly fished about with his tongue for fangs unaccountably mislaid.

As Dimity said, Sidheag surely does grumpy old man very well for a sixteen-year-old girl.

Lord Macon deposited his wife into a chair and then knelt next to her, clutching one of her hands. "Tell me truthfully - how are you feeling?"
Alexia took a breath. "Truthfully? I sometimes wonder if I, like Madame Lefoux, should affect masculine dress."
"Gracious me, why?"
"You mean aside from the issue of greater mobility?"
"My love, I don't think that's currently the result of your clothing."
"Indeed, I mean after the baby."
"I still don't see why should want to."
"Oh no? I dare you to spend a week in a corset, long skirts and a bustle."
"How do you know I haven't?

There is an art to irritation that only few of us can achieve.

Alec didn't normally consider himself a violent man, but sometimes, arms simply needed to be removed.

Stop terrorizing the servants, Channing. I don't care how you get yourself out of this twitchy, angry mood you are in, but do it now. I believe I preferred you as a cold, elusive pollock."

Channing grinned. "Now you see why I work so hard for that state. Anything else is worse."

Biffy rolled his eyes. "You could try being happy. Or would that strain something?"

"He doesn't know how." Lyall's voice was sad.

Biffy glared at them both. "Oh, for goodness' sake, he's a werewolf, and he likes to fight. Is it so wrong to suggest he might, oh I don't know, fight for her?

There was no way she was staying trapped with tea at a time like this.

She'll never let him go."
"Which she?"
"Either she."
"I think you'll find he's got a mind of his own these days."
"Oh, you think so, do you? That's a manifold problem. I don't like men who won't listen to my mind over theirs.

She felt compelled to conclude that he was mortified to have kissed her in the first place and was hoping she would forget it ever happened. While knowing any well-bred lady would do simply that, Alexia had enjoyed the experience and did not feel like behaving properly over it. Still, she must conclude that all agreeable sensations were entirely one-sided, and now Lord Maccon felt nothing more than a palpable wish never to see her again. He would treat her with painful correctness in the meantime.

What have I done thins time? he paused to ask before continuing with his oral expedition about her body: her husband, the intrepid explorer.

Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds.
Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?

Bland, good as a side dish, but really only palatable when there is nothing better available.

Professor Braithwope, shimmering out of his room fully clothed and dapper. His mustache was a fluffy caterpillar of curiosity, perched and ready to inquire, dragging the vampire along behind it on the investigation.

Could that technique, she wondered, be legitimately referred to as a "parassault"?

With a resigned shrug, she screamed and collapsed into a faint. She stayed resolutely fainted, despite the liberal application of smelling salts, which made her eyes water most tremendously, a cramp in the back of one knee, and the fact that her new ball gown was getting most awfully wrinkled.

She was pleased her husband still thought her attractive, despite her beached-whale state, but was finding it increasingly awkward to accommodate him. The spirit was willing but the flesh was swollen. Still, she enjoyed the compliment and understood that there was no real demand behind the caresses. The earl knew her well enough to realize she valued his desire almost as much as his love. After a lifetime of feeling ugly and unworthy, Alexia was now tolerably assured that Conall genuinely did want her, even if they could do nothing about it at present. She also understood that he was expressing his conjugal interest partly out of knowledge of her own need for such assurances. A werewolf and a buffoon, her husband, but wonderfully caring once he'd blundered into the way of it.

I think we seldom regret the risks we take as much as the times we did not try at all.

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

Why? I mean, why you? I can perfectly comprehend not liking my husband. I dislike him intensely most of the time."
Professor Lyall stifled a chuckle. "I am given to understand that he does not approve of spelling one' s name with two ll's. He finds it inexcusably Welsh. I suspect he may be quite taken with you, however.

The French inventor told the acting troupe about Lord Maccon's death.

Hail a cab, please, Floote. I am going out."
"Are you certain that is wise, Miss? "
"To be wise, one might never leave one's room at all

My dearest girl,' said the vampire finally, examining Lord Maccon with an exhausted but appreciative eye, 'such a banquet. Never been one to favor werewolves myself, but he is very well equipped, now, is he not?'
Miss Tarabotti gave him an arch look. 'My goodies,' she warned.
Humans,' chuckled the vampire, 'so possessive.

One could not blame a people for disliking vampires. Vampires were like brussels sprouts - not for everyone and impossible to improve upon with sauce.

Shame on you! Bad vampire.

It's no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.

Faith was enjoying her evening, the looming presence of Major Channing notwithstanding. He seemed to swoop in at odd times, presenting her with a glass of punch or distracting her from her conversation by glowering fiercely. She noticed that if she paid any one gentleman too much attention for too long a time, the major would make himself known. Then he would disappear and ignore her once more.

It was sublimely aggravating. Like being desired by a very large mosquito.

As a general rule, Lord Maccon appreciated a voluptuous woman. He liked a bit of meat on the female form, more to grab on to - and more to chew off.

Rue carried her mother's parasol, which was too ugly to match any of her outfits, but was more sturdy than any of her fashionable ones. This one, felt Rue, could really cause damage to a noggin if applied with enough enthusiasm. Somehow this made her feel more secure about life in general.

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

What if all those strange and unexplainable bends in history were the result of supernatural interference? At which point I asked myself, what's the weirdest most eccentric historical phenomenon of them all? Answer:the Great British Empire. Clearly, one tiny little island could only conquer half the known world with supernatural aid. Those absurd Victorian manners and ridiculous fashions were obviously dictated by vampires. And, without a doubt, the British army regimental system functions on werewolf pack dynamics.

I suspect it may be like the difference between a drinker and an alcoholic; the one merely reads books, the other needs books to make it through the day.
(Interview with The Booklovers blog, September 2010)

Funambulist.' said Sophronia Temminnick, quite suddenly.
'Sophronia, such language!' Dimity Plumleigh-Teignmott reprimanded.
'Pardon?' said Agatha Woosmoss.
Sidheag Maccon, the final member of Sophronia's group, muttered, 'Bless you.'
'I wasn't sneezing, nor being indelicate, thank you all very much. I was thinking out loud.'
'As if thinking out loud weren't *decidedly* indelicate.' Dimity was not to be swayed out of disapproval when she felt it might exercise her creativity.

How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.

It didn't feel sporting to shoot at a crazy person, even if that person was a vampire who'd agreed to the job.

The ill-informed masses included her own family among their ranks, a family that specialized in being both inconvenient and asinine.

There was, currently, far more hairy masculinity in her life than any Englishwoman should really have to put up with on a monthly basis. That said, half the pack was away fighting in northern India; someday there would be even more full-moon maleness. She thought of her husband; him she had to deal with on a daily basis.

Her heart was beating a marathon somewhere in the region of her throat, her skin felt hot and stretched taut over her bones, and she was damp in places she was tolerably certain unmarried gentlewomen were not supposed to be damp in.

No one ever explained the octopuses.

There was a pleasantness to the air and a spirit about the town that did not come from its color, but from some inner, tasty citrus quality. It made Alexia wonder fancifully if cities could have souls.

I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.

That's a very murky position," objected Felix.
"So's the weather. But this is England, we must learn to live with uncertainty.