Best 14 quotes of Rhys Bowen on MyQuotes

Full of fun, over-the-top characters and witty prose, with a touch of gay romance that is equally pleasing to straight readers. The Edwin Drood Murders is the perfect mystery for educated, intelligent readers.

I know ladies don’t sweat, but something was running down my face in great rivulets.

They don't hang dukes, darling. He'd be let off by reason of insanity. Everyone knows the upper classes are batty.

We should all have personal hot air balloons and drift serenely through the clouds.

Why is it that there is this misconception that dark equals good. That only applies to chocolate.

Aren't you going a little overboard?" I asked, picturing a day ahead of me trying to find these items in a town I didn't know. "Nonsense, darling. What's the point of a party if you don't go overboard." I sat on the sofa watching her, admiring her. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a wonderful way of shaking off life's little problems, like water off a duck's back. Nothing seemed to upset her.

Hanni, I’m going to have to watch you carefully. You may break a lot of hearts in London.” “What am I to break?” she asked with that lovely innocent smile. “Hearts. Lots of Englishmen will fall in love with you.” “I hope so,” she said. “I’m gonna be hot sexy dame. You can give me tips.

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.

I gather you weren't keen on going back to Scotland with your brother at this time of year. I don't say I blame you. Terribly bleak and cutoff in the winter." "Oh no, Mom," I said, as her words sunk in. "My brother is not going back to Scotland. He and my sister-in-law are going to the Riviera." The Riviera? I had no idea." "For my sister-in-law's health. She's feeling rather frail at the moment." "I don't think that frail would ever be a word to describe your sister-in-law," the Queen said, looking up with a half smile on her lips as a tray of coffee was reeled into the room. "I managed to have six children without making a fuss. One just got on with it.

It's not her fault she can't cook." "You are too nice natured, darling. You won't get anywhere in this world being kind and generous. You must turn into a lioness like me and gobble up people who disagree with you." "I'm not very good at gobbling," I said. "And I want to like people, and be liked by them." She sighed. "The sooner you get married and have babies to adore the better.

So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them? Belinda! Your language. I've been mingling with Americans. Such fun. So Naughty.

We have to get rid of pain in ass. She will not let me have good time. We should take her out.” “Take her out where?” Hanni grinned. “You know. Take her out. Waste her. Bang bang. Curtains.” “Hanni, I don’t think we’re going to be able to waste the baroness, but I agree she’s not going to make things pleasant for us.” “Then we must plan way to make her go home.” “Make it not nice for her here. She likes to eat. Serve her very little food.” “For someone straight from the convent, you are quite devious,” I said. “What means devious?” “Sneaky.” “Oh, like pulling a fast one,” she said, beaming. “Yeah. Sure thing, baby.

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.

Wow, holy cow, hubba hubba, gee whiz. That was some guy. Don’t tell me he’s your main squeeze!” “My what?” “Your honey. Your sugar. Isn’t that right word?” “In England we’re a little less colorful with our language. “So you say it?” “Boyfriend? Escort?” “And is he?” “Obviously not anymore,” I said with a sigh.