Rhys Bowen > Quotes

“They don't hang dukes, darling. He'd be let off by reason of insanity. Everyone knows the upper classes are batty.”
― Rhys Bowen, Her Royal Spyness

“Why is it that there is this misconception that dark equals good. That only applies to chocolate.”
― Rhys Bowen

“We should all have personal hot air balloons and drift serenely through the clouds.”
― Rhys Bowen, In a Gilded Cage

“All he has is a mangled ankle. I have Americans.”
― Rhys Bowen, Royal Flush

“I know ladies don’t sweat, but something was running down my face in great rivulets.”
― Rhys Bowen, Royal Flush

“The words hot, lot, and got were not apart of a ladies vocabulary.”
― Rhys Bowen, Her Royal Spyness

“When the world has gone mad, we must help each other when we can.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“Then how can prayers be answered if you do not call upon the saints to help? God is obviously too busy to do everything alone.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“Is he one of us, or strictly NOCD? (Which, in case you don't know is shorthand for 'Not our class, dear'.)”
― Rhys Bowen, Her Royal Spyness

“Sure. Why not?” he said. “A cup of tea. That’s what everyone drank all through the war. A bomb was dropped and everyone said, ‘It’s all right. Have a cup of tea.’” And he laughed.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“There is nothing to say except that life is unfair. You will get over it, … but only time will heal your wounds, and then not completely. We just have to made do with what we have left and treasure those around us who are still alive.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Victory Garden

“We humans have the capacity to survive almost anything. Not only to survive but to come through triumphant. Another door will open. You’ll see. A better one. A safer one. A brighter future.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Venice Sketchbook

“At least he was useful in some ways. He made good cheese.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“Llanfair - home if Saint Gelert's grave. We should call ourselves that, like that other Llanfair.'
'You mean the other Llanfair over the Anglesey; the one that claims to have the longest name in the world?' Barry-the-Bucket asked.
'That's exactly what I mean', Evans-the-Meat said grandly. 'If they can call themselves Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, which we all know means nothing more important than Saint Mary's church in the hollow of white hazel near the rapid whirlpool and Saint Tisilio's church near the red cave, then why shouldn't we start calling ourselves Llanfair-up-on-the-pass-with-the-brook-running-through-it-and-Saint-Gelert's-grave-right-above-it?”
― Rhys Bowen, Evan Help Us

“I decided never to eat bacon again. But I happen to adore bacon, so that didn’t last long.”
― Rhys Bowen, In Farleigh Field

“I’m teaching you how to survive in a difficult world. You can’t be under your parents’ thumb forever. You have to take charge of your own life now you’re going to be twenty-one.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Victory Garden

“But flirting does not come easily to someone brought up in a remote castle with tartan wallpaper in the bathrooms, bagpipes at dawn and men who wear kilts.”
― Rhys Bowen, A Royal Pain

“How quickly life can change. Well, maybe it was time that it changed again. I was in a beautiful place, staying with a kind woman, and I was going to enjoy myself, whatever the outcome was.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“In case you haven’t noticed, people aren’t nice,”
― Rhys Bowen, In Farleigh Field

“Ah, but it was your great-grandmother who went around subjugating half the world. Empress of all I survey, and all that. You must have that quality somewhere in your makeup."

"I've never had a change to subjugate anybody yet, so I can't really say," I confessed.”
― Rhys Bowen, Her Royal Spyness

“​Lady Pamela Sutton stared at the dreary government-issued posters on the wall of her small cubicle in Hut 3.”
― Rhys Bowen, In Farleigh Field

“I will not be bullied or dictated to. I’m not a child any more, and I’m prepared to make my own way and my own mistakes if necessary.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Victory Garden

“Idealistic? Ruddy stupid, if you'll pardon the language, miss,: Mr Roberts said. "All this talk about power for the people and down with the ruling classes and everyone should govern themselves. It can never happen, I told him. The ruling classes are born to rule. They know how to do it. You take a person like you or me and you put us up there to run a country and we'd make a ruddy mess of it.”
― Rhys Bowen, A Royal Pain

“Fill in?” she demanded. “For the weekend?” She winced as if each of these words were causing her pain. “I am afraid we do not handle that sort of thing.” By that she implied that I had requested a stripper straight from the Casbah. So”
― Rhys Bowen, A Royal Pain

“A man in love does not notice the cut of the dress, but rather a face of a beloved.”
― Rhys Bowen, Naughty in Nice

“At last he said, “I’ve been fourteen years on the police force. I’ve learned from seasoned veterans. I’ve handled all types of criminal cases. But my wife, newly arrived from the backwoods of Ireland, manages to tie up all my unsolved cases for me with apparently no effort at all. I should just quit my job and stay home looking after the babies while you go out to work for us.”
― Rhys Bowen, The Family Way

“When I venture to point out the unfairness of this, I am reminded of the second item on my list. Apparently the only acceptable destiny for a young female mem​b​er of the house of Windsor is to marry into another of the royal houses that still seem to litter Europe, even though there are precious few reigning monarchs these days. it seems that even a very minor Windsor like myself is a desirable commodity for those wishing a tenuous alliance with Britain at this unsettled time. I am constantly being reminded that is is my duty to make a good match with some half-lunatic, buck-toothed, chinless, spinele​s​s​​​, and utterly awful European royal, thus cementing ties with a potential enemy. My cousin Alex did this, poor thing. I have learned from her tragic example.”
― Rhys Bowen, Her Royal Spyness

“The scent of new-mown grass wafted on the warm breeze, mingled with the smoke of leaves burning on a distant bonfire. The scents and sounds of an English summer Sunday, unchanged for centuries, Ben thought. Polite”
― Rhys Bowen, In Farleigh Field

“fagioli al fiasco sotto la cenere.” She handed him a bowl of what looked like white paste. He didn’t understand the Italian words in her dialect, except that “fagioli” was beans, and this did not look like beans—more like oatmeal. He didn’t think he’d ever seen an oat when he was in Florence, and certainly nobody ate oatmeal for breakfast. “What is this?” he asked. “It is made of white beans cooked in water and then cooked again with olive oil, rosemary, sage, and garlic in the coals of the fire all night. We put it in a Chianti bottle and cook it slowly in the embers. Then we mash”
― Rhys Bowen, The Tuscan Child

“A body? Of a person? Dead?” “Bodies usually are. And this one was very dead indeed.”
― Rhys Bowen, In Farleigh Field