Instinct was clawing at him like an importuning dog.
Robert GalbraithStrike was used to playing archaeologist among the ruins of people’s traumatised memories;
Robert GalbraithThere’s people who’d expect you to take a bullet for them and they don’t bother rememb’ring yuh name.
Robert GalbraithIn the inverted food chain of fame, it was the big beasts who were stalked and hunted
Robert GalbraithStichwörter: fame food-chain
In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance.
Robert GalbraithStichwörter: inspirational self-esteem wallflower j-k-rowling
Seven and a half million hearts were beating in close proximity in this heaving old city, and many, after all, would be aching far worse than his.
Robert GalbraithRidiculous," he said breathlessly. "You ought to give up detecting and try fantasy writing.
Robert GalbraithStichwörter: irony
She wuz depressed. Yeah, she wuz on stuff for it. Like me. Sometimes it jus' takes you over. It's an illness," she said, although she made the words sound like "it's uh nillness."
Nillness, thought Strike, for a second distracted. He had slept badly. Nillness, that was where Lula Landry had gone, and where all of them, he and Rochelle included, were headed. Sometimes illness turned slowly to nillness, as was happening to Bristow's mother... sometimes nillness rose to meet you out of nowhere, like a concrete road slamming your skull apart.
Stichwörter: depression
The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them.
Robert GalbraithIt's that wounded-poet crap, that soul-pain shit, that too-much-of-a-tortured-genius-to-wash bollocks. Brush your teeth, you little bastard. You're not fucking Byron.
Robert GalbraithStichwörter: byron wounded-poet-crap
« erste vorherige
Seite 2 von 5.
nächste letzte »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.