Rizzoli And Isles Maura Quotes

We are not as impervious as we think we are. - Dr Maura Isles

Be aware every morning that you may not last the day, And every evening that you may not last the night.

Does he think it's so easy? One smile, one touch and all is forgiven -Dr Maura Isles

We're all struggling to stay upright, Maura thought. Resisting the pull of temptation,just as we fight the pull of gravity. And when we finally fall, it's always such a surprise.

Maura dertli bir kahkaha attı. "Bir ilişkinin dayandırılabileceği en sağlam şey trajedi.

Kalpler,sonuçlarını pek değerlendirmeden seçimlerini yapar.Seçimini yaptıktan sonra da kendisini bekleyen yalnız geceleri düşünmez.

Maura moved quietly to the alcove. There she lit three candles for three women. One for Sister Ursula. One for Sister Camille. And one for a faceless leper whose name she would never know. She did not believe in heaven or hell; she was not even sure she believed in the eternal soul.

fierce-looking, a coal-eyed brunette with a gaze direct as lasers. She

That was the day she learned she was the daughter of a lioness.

When one hears hoofbeats, medical students are taught, one must think of horses, not zebras. But the doctor who sees my blood count will surely think of horses. He will arrive at a perfectly logical conclusion. It will no occur to him that, this time, it is truly a zebra galloping by.

It is cold in my cell. Outside, the harsh winds of February are blowing and I am told it has once again begun to snow. I sit on my cot, a blanket draped over my shoulders, and remember how the delicious heat had enveloped us like a cloak on the day we walked the streets of Livadia. To the north of that Greek town, there are two springs which were known in ancient times as Lethe and Mnemosyne. Forgetfulness and Memory. We drank from both springs, you and I, and then we fell asleep in the dappled shade of an olive grove.

A ROW OF SKULLS glared from atop a wall of intricately stacked femurs and tibias. Though it was June, and she knew the sun was shining on the streets of Paris sixty feet above her, Dr. Maura Isles felt chilled as she walked down the dim passageway, its walls lined almost to the ceiling with human remains. She was familiar, even intimate, with death, and had confronted its face countless times on her autopsy table, but she was stunned by the scale of this display, by the sheer number of bones stored in this network of tunnels beneath the City of Light. The one-kilometer tour took her through only a small section of the catacombs. Off-limits to tourists were numerous side tunnels and bone-filled chambers, their dark mouths gaping seductively behind locked gates.

We’re all struggling to stay upright, Maura thought. Resisting the pull of temptation, just as we fight the pull of gravity. And when we finally fall, it’s always such a surprise.

Catgut is a type of surgical thread made from the intestines of cows or sheep.” “So why do they call it catgut?” asked Rizzoli. “It goes back to the Middle Ages, when gut strings were used on musical instruments. The musicians referred to their instruments as their kit, and the strings were called kitgut. The word eventually became catgut.

If I had just one day to relive, I would spend every minute of it with you. Holding you in bed. Whispering secrets beneath warm sheets.

Gwadowski—

Gradually the beep of the EKG slowed. Against the steady rhythm of that heartbeat, the two women gazed at each other. If Catherine had recognized a part of herself in Nina’s eyes, so, too, did Nina seem to recognize herself in Catherine’s. The silent sisterhood of victims. There are more of us than anyone will ever know.  

We’re all struggling to stay upright, Maura thought. Resisting the pull of temptation, just as we fight the pull of gravity. And when we finally fall, it’s always such a surprise. The

a Dr. Mikovitz. He says you left a message this morning with one of his colleagues.” “Oh, of course.” Maura picked up the phone. “This is Dr. Isles.” Jane turned her gaze back to the X ray, to those three parallel nicks on the cheekbones. She tried to imagine what could have left such a mark. It was a tool that neither she nor Maura had encountered before.

Dr Tierney did the autopsy.’ ‘Who was the detective on that case?’ ‘Um . . . here it is.

the pages of computer

Dodge Caravan three weeks ago, out in Pittsfield.’ Pittsfield, she thought, right across the state border from Albany. Where a woman vanished just last month. She stood with the receiver pressed to her ear, her pulse starting to hammer. ‘Where’s that van now?’ ‘Our team sat tight and didn’t follow it. By the time they heard back about the plates, it was gone. It hasn’t come back.’ ‘Let’s change out that car and move it to a parallel street. Bring in a second team to watch the house. If the van comes by again, we can do a leapfrog tail. Two cars, taking turns.’ ‘Right, I’m headed over there now.’ She hung up. Turned to look into the interview room where Charles Cassell was still sitting at the table, his head bowed. Is that love or obsession I’m looking at? she wondered. Sometimes, you couldn’t tell the difference. Twenty-eight DAYLIGHT WAS FADING when Rizzoli cruised up Dedham Parkway. She spotted Frost’s car and pulled up behind him. Climbed out of her car and slid into his passenger seat. ‘And?’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Not a damn thing.’ ‘Shit. It’s been over an hour. Did we scare him off?’ ‘There’s still a chance it wasn’t Lank.’ ‘White van, stolen plates from Pittsfield?’ ‘Well, it didn’t hang around. And it hasn’t been back.’ ‘When’s the last time Van Gates left the house?’ ‘He and the wife went grocery shopping around noon. They’ve been home ever since.’ ‘Let’s cruise by. I want to take a look.’ Frost drove past the house, moving slowly enough for her to get a good long gander at Tara-on-Sprague-Street. They passed the surveillance team, parked at the other end of the block, then turned the corner and pulled over. Rizzoli said: ‘Are you sure they’re home?’ ‘Team hasn’t seen either one of them leave since noon.’ ‘That house looked awfully dark to me.’ They sat there for a few minutes, as dusk deepened. As Rizzoli’s uneasiness grew. She’d seen no lights on. Were both husband and wife asleep? Had they slipped out without the surveillance team seeing them? What was that van doing in this neighborhood? She looked at Frost. ‘That’s it. I’m not going to wait any longer. Let’s pay a visit.’ Frost circled back to the house and parked. They rang the bell, knocked on the door. No one answered. Rizzoli stepped off the porch, backed up the walkway, and gazed up at the southern plantation facade with its priapic white columns. No lights were on upstairs, either. The van, she thought. It was here for a reason. Frost said, ‘What do you think?’ Rizzoli could feel her heart starting to punch, could feel prickles of unease. She cocked her head, and Frost got the message: We’re going around back. She circled to the side yard and swung open a gate. Saw just a narrow brick walkway, abutted by a fence. No room for a garden, and barely room for the two trash cans sitting there. She stepped through the gate. They had no warrant, but something was wrong here, something that was making her hands tingle, the same hands that had been scarred by Warren Hoyt’s blade. A monster leaves his mark on your flesh, on your instincts. Forever after, you can feel it when another one passes by. With Frost right behind her, she moved past dark windows and a central air-conditioning unit that blew warm air against her chilled flesh. Quiet, quiet. They were trespassing now, but all she wanted was a peek in the windows, a look in the back door. She rounded the corner and found a small backyard, enclosed by a fence. The rear gate was open. She crossed the yard to that gate and looked into the alley beyond it. No one there. She started toward the house and was almost at the back door when she noticed it was ajar. She and Frost exchanged a look. Both their weapons came out. It had happened so quickly, so automatically, that she did not even remember having drawn hers. Frost gave the back door a push, and it swung

Sometimes, thought Maura, the stars line up, the gods smile, and love gets a fighting chance. Just a chance—that’s all it can really

Sometimes, thought Maura, the stars line up, the gods smile, and love gets a fighting chance. Just a chance—that’s all it can really hope for. No guarantees, no certainties

(these are my highlighted parts of the book) Not human, thought Maura, as the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. My god, what have I brought back from the dead? This poor woman's already died once. Let's not have it happen again. Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give to the court in the case now in hearing shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? Corpses have woken up in morgues. Old graves have been dug up, and they have found claw marks inside the coffin lids. People are so terrified of the possibility that some casket makers sell coffins equipped with emergency transmitters to call for help. Just in case you're buried alive. The resurrection of Christ wasn't a true resurrection. It was merely a case of premature burial. When they ask you to play a child, it means they want you to be scared. They want you to scream. They enjoy it if you bleed. It's not strength, Mila. It's hate. That's what keeps you alive. Duplex rounds are designed to inflict maximum damage. In marines, we call them "torso meat tags" because they're useful for identifying your corpse. In a blast, there's a good chance you'd lose your extremities. So a lot of soldiers choose to get their tattoos on their chest or back. The world is evil, Mila, and there's no way to change it. The best you can do is to stay alive...and not be evil. You're worse tan a whore. You don't just sell out yourself. You'd sell out anyone else. But these bars look different; these are not to trap people in; they are meant to keep people out. Come on baby. Stop being so goddamn stubborn. Help your mama out! Some babies are born screamers. They refuse to be ignored. God put mothers on this earth for a reason. Now, I'm not saying it takes a village to raise a kid. But it sure does help to have a grandma. Human. A02/B00/C02(7cm)/D42 Scalp hair. Slightly curved, shaft is seven centimeters, pigment is medium red. Reality's a bitch, ain't it? And so am I. Whenever there are big boys playing with a lot of money, you can bet sex comes into it. When I open my eyes again, I see more of Anja peeking out from the sand. The curve of her hip bone, the brown shaft of her thigh. The desert has decided to give her up, and now she is re-emerging from the earth. Nothing that happened to you was your fault. Whatever those men did to you - whatever they made you do - they forced on you. It was done to your body. It has nothing to do with your soul. Your soul, Mila, is still pure.

She knew Rollo was trying to intimidate her with the evil eye. Rattle the cop, throw her off balance. He was like too many other assholes she’d known, and his stare was nothing new. Just the last resort of a loser.