Marquis De Carabas Quotes

What," asked Mr Croup, "do you want?" "What," asked the Marquis de Carabas, a little more rhetorically, "does anyone want?" "Dead things," suggested Mr Vandemar. "Extra teeth.

Any way, death is so final, isn't it? "Is it?" asked Richard. "Sometimes," said the marquis de Carabas. And they went down.

The marquis de Carabas looked up at him. His eyes were very white in the moonlight. And he whispered, "What's it like being dead? It's very cold, my friend. Very dark, and very cold.

The marquis de Carabas was not a good man, and he knew himself well enough to be perfectly certain that he was not a brave man. He had long since decided that the world, Above or Below, was a place that wished to be deceived, and, to this end, he had named himself from a lie in a fairy tale, and created himself--his clothes, his manner, his carriage--as a grand joke. There was a dull pain in his wrists and his feet, and he was finding it harder and harder to breathe. There was nothing more to be gained by feigning unconsciousness, and he raised his head, as best he could, and spat a gob of scarlet blood into Mr. Vandemar's face. It was a brave thing to do, he thought. And a stupid one. Perhaps they would have let him die quietly, if he had not done that. Now, he had no doubt, they would hurt him more. And perhaps his death would come the quicker for it.

The Marquis de Carabas liked being who he was, and when he took risks he liked them to be calculated risks, and he was someone who double-and triple-checked his calculations. He

Excuse me,' he said. 'I know this is a personal question. But are you clinically insane?' 'Possible, but very unlikely. Why?

The Marquis de Carabas always had a plan, and he always had a fallback plan; and beneath these plans he always had a real plan, one that he would not even let himself know about, for when the original plan and the fallback plan had both gone south.

He calls himself the Marquis de Carabas,” he said. “He’s a fraud and a cheat and possibly even something of a monster. If you’re ever in trouble, go to him. He will protect you, girl. He has to.

Why . . . why did some people think you were dead?” The marquis looked at Richard with eyes that had seen too much and gone too far. “Because they killed me,” he said.

The marquis de Carabas tossed the figurine to Mr. Croup, who caught it eagerly, like an addict catching a plastic baggie filled with white powder of dubious legality.

WHAT,” ASKED MR. CROUP, “do you want?” “What,” asked the Marquis de Carabas, a little more rhetorically, “does anyone want?” “Dead things,” suggested Mr. Vandemar. “Extra teeth.

She was drinking your life,” said the Marquis de Carabas, in a hoarse whisper. “Taking your warmth. Turning you into a cold thing like her.

What Richard had taken for a pile of rags unfolded, expanded, stood up in one fluid motion, and a hand caught the crumpled paper in midair. “Mine, I believe,” said the Marquis de Carabas.

The Marquis de Carabas did not trust people. It was bad for business and it could set an unfortunate precedent. He did not trust his friends or his occasional lovers, and he certainly never trusted his employers.