Sneaking Quotes

“Now listen, we need to be quiet as mice. No, quieter than that. As quiet as . . . as . . .”
“Dead mice?” Reynie suggested.
“Perfect,” said Kate with an approving nod. “As quiet as dead mice.”
― Trenton Lee Stewart, The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Prisoner's Dilemma

“Your diet must be about fifty-fifty, carrots and locoweed," Annie said softly.
He froze.
"I can't figure out what in the name of God's labia majora you think you're doing...but I'm impressed by how well you're doing it in the dark. You must have eyes like a cat.”
― Spider Robinson, The Free Lunch

“It is strange how loud little sounds become when you are in the dark and doing something wrong.”
― Richard Llewellyn, How Green Was My Valley

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Sneak around.”

“Do you mean walk around? Because that’s what I actually did. I usually crouch more when I sneak — and then I kill someone.”
― G.A. Aiken, Supernatural

“Large men in black plate mail with red cloaks and plumes don't sneak worth a damn.”
― Tanya Huff, Nights of the Round Table and Other Stories of Heroic Fantasy

“Don't hold back on my account," [Graham] said. "I'm not a complete moron. You're not as slick as you think--all those double entendres. Scampering around the roof in the middle of the night.”
― Ingrid Paulson, Valkyrie Rising

“Furtive behavior is always noticed and, when noticed, inevitably raises an alarm. On the other hand, a man acting boldly and directly is viewed as honest and harmless, is not remarked upon, and is later forgotten altogether.”
― Dean Koontz, Mr. Murder

“Viktor looked at the older man’s nightshirt, robe, and nightcap. His lips quirked into a smile. “The hour is late, and the household sleeps. How is it that you are still awake?”
“I knew you would be knocking on the door sooner or later.” Pickles looked down his long nose at him. “You have passed the previous six nights with Her Ladyship.”
“You are observant, my good man.”
“No, Your Highness, I am the one who locks the door at night.” Pickles reached into his robe’s pocket and produced a key. He passed it to the prince, saying, “After tonight, let yourself into the
house.”
Viktor grinned at the majordomo and lifted the key out of his hand. “Your trust honors me.”
“You are unlikely to abscond with the silver,” Pickles drawled.”
― Patricia Grasso, Seducing the Prince

“Discord is a better shield than steel.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Realm Breaker

“Maximus coughed a while longer, but in the middle of the night towards the end of the week, they were all woken by a terrible squealing, distant shrieks of terror and fire; in a panic they burst out from the tents to discover Maximus attempting guiltily to sneak unnoticed back into the parade grounds, with as much success as was to be expected in this endeavor, and carrying in his already-bloodied jaws a spare ox. This he hurriedly swallowed down almost entire, on finding himself observed, and then pretended not to know what they were talking about, insisting he had only got up to stretch his legs and settle himself more comfortably.”
― Naomi Novik, Empire of Ivory

“Her bare feet whispered across the floor as she approached him with the sort of stealth that only small children and trained killers possess.”
― Obie Williams, The Crimes of Orphans

“It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

“Cody probably wasn’t in danger either, but he wasn’t willing to risk it when these might also be good guys that he might need later to help him sneak into some forgotten city win himself an empire at the price of gallons of blood...”
― Jim Dyar, The Zeus Gambit

“Sneaking in and out of places was a skill that Han had mastered at a young age. All his life, people had been trying to keep him inside places he didn't want to be, or out of places he needed to get into.”
― Cinda Williams Chima

“he looked more like a gust of wind or a whirl of smoke than a boy.”
― Noor Al-Shanti, Children of the Dead City

“Despite his size, Lincoln moved through the jungle with the easy grace of a predatory cat, finding the tiniest openings between the dense vegetation so as not to disturb anything. His feet seemed to barely brush the loamy ground. He was so stealthy that the background symphony of insects and bird cries never dropped in volume or rose in alarm.”
― Clive Cussler, Plague Ship

“Dodging across the alley, covered by the blackness, the three men maneuvered to the front of the next hut. The air was still, soundless. It was so quiet that Tommy thought that every infinitesimal noise they made was magnified, trumpet like, a klaxon noise of alarm. To move silently in a world absent all external noises is very difficult. There were no nearby city sounds of cars and buses or even the deep whomp-whomp-whomp of a distant bombing raid. Not even the joking voices of the goons in the towers or a bark from a Hundführer's dog creased the night to distract or help conceal every footstep they made. For a moment, he wished the British would break into some rowdy song over in the northern compound. Anything to cover over the top of the modest noises they made.”
― John Katzenbach, Hart's War

“No chocolate or ginger cake, Victoria sponge or coffee and walnut cake tastes quite as good as that smudge of raw cake mixture stolen from the bowl. The beaten butter and sugar, eggs and flour have a special temptation all of their own. Cool and whipped till cloud-like, it has a hint of soft-serve vanilla ice cream about it. You can't eat much, of course, not even a full spoonful, only the merest fingertip's worth, a dab, a swoosh. But that is the point. Perhaps it is what makes raw cake mixture irresistible, the fact that it must be taken in precious amounts. Anyone who has dipped into excess knows how your treat soon cloys. We indulge at our peril.
I say 'licking the bowl,' but our delight need not be confined to that. Wiping the extra uncooked cake mixture from the spoon or beater with your index finger is just as good. Seasoned with the false premise of waste not, want not, the raw mixture also carries with it the frisson of the illegal. In cookery classes at school in the late 1960s we were allowed to lick the black-treacle spoon but not the one we used for golden syrup, and certainly not one smeared with the vanilla-scented delights of raw cake mixture, so we (by which I mean me and all the girls in the class) developed a way of sneaking some with the deftness of a bunch of serial shoplifters.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts