Truly Devious Quotes

You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they're supposed to be.

Where her books were, she was. Get the books right and the rest will follow. Now she could address the rest of the room.

Of course I worry too much,” Nate said. “But I’m usually right. The people who worry are always right. That’s how that works.

All the money, all the power—none of it compares to a good book. A book gives you everything. It gives you a window into other souls, other worlds. The world is a door. Books are the key.

When you have enough power and money, you can dictate the meanings of words.

There is nothing so serious as a game.

10/30/38 Where do you look for someone who's never really there? Always on a staircase but never on a stair

So much of anxiety was anxiety about having anxiety.

The wonderful thing about reality is that it is highly flexible. One minute, all is doom; the next, everything is abloom with possibility.

Look! A riddle! Time for fun! Should we use a rope or gun? Knives are sharp and gleam so pretty Poison’s slow, which is a pity Fire is festive, drowning’s slow Hanging’s a ropy way to go A broken head, a nasty fall A car colliding with a wall Bombs make a very jolly noise Such ways to punish naughty boys! What shall we use? We can’t decide. Just like you cannot run or hide. Ha ha. Truly, Devious

Albert Ellingham said knowledge was his religion and libraries were his church, so he built a church.

It was like she had been punched in the gut. Stevie said stuff like that all the time and was told she was wrong. David said it once and got a nod and a compliment. Oh, the magic of dudes. If only they bottled it.

Anything is better than doing what I'm supposed to be doing.

You have to try. Trying is the first step to whatever comes next.

Anxiety does not ask your permission. Anxiety does not come when expected. It's very rude. It barges in at the strangest moments, stopping all activity, focusing everything on itself It sucks the air our of your lungs and scrambles the world.

Stevie woke the next morning, which was a good start. When things are bad, give yourself a point for everything.

My moose,” she said in a low voice. “I finally got it. The universe paid me in moose.

What did you do?” she hissed. “Me?” “Don’t be a dick,” she said. “That ship has sailed. Hang on. We can’t fight yet. Where’s my hug?

Why. Do. People. Do. Stupid. Things." "Because we're stupid," she said.

Sherlock said, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose.

Sometimes Stevie felt bad for her parents. Their idea of what constituted interesting was so limited. They were never going to have as much fun as she did.

For anyone who has ever dreamed of finding a body in the library. - Dedication of Truly Devious

Civilized people must, I believe, satisfy the following criteria: 1) They respect human beings as individuals and are therefore always tolerant, gentle, courteous and amenable ... They do not create scenes over a hammer or a mislaid eraser; they do not make you feel they are conferring a great benefit on you when they live with you, and they don't make a scandal when they leave. (...) 2) They have compassion for other people besides beggars and cats. Their hearts suffer the pain of what is hidden to the naked eye. (...) 3) They respect other people's property, and therefore pay their debts. 4) They are not devious, and they fear lies as they fear fire. They don't tell lies even in the most trivial matters. To lie to someone is to insult them, and the liar is diminished in the eyes of the person he lies to. Civilized people don't put on airs; they behave in the street as they would at home, they don't show off to impress their juniors. (...) 5) They don't run themselves down in order to provoke the sympathy of others. They don't play on other people's heartstrings to be sighed over and cosseted ... that sort of thing is just cheap striving for effects, it's vulgar, old hat and false. (...) 6) They are not vain. They don't waste time with the fake jewellery of hobnobbing with celebrities, being permitted to shake the hand of a drunken [judicial orator], the exaggerated bonhomie of the first person they meet at the Salon, being the life and soul of the bar ... They regard prases like 'I am a representative of the Press!!' -- the sort of thing one only hears from [very minor journalists] -- as absurd. If they have done a brass farthing's work they don't pass it off as if it were 100 roubles' by swanking about with their portfolios, and they don't boast of being able to gain admission to places other people aren't allowed in (...) True talent always sits in the shade, mingles with the crowd, avoids the limelight ... As Krylov said, the empty barrel makes more noise than the full one. (...) 7) If they do possess talent, they value it ... They take pride in it ... they know they have a responsibility to exert a civilizing influence on [others] rather than aimlessly hanging out with them. And they are fastidious in their habits. (...) 8) They work at developing their aesthetic sensibility ... Civilized people don't simply obey their baser instincts ... they require mens sana in corpore sano. And so on. That's what civilized people are like ... Reading Pickwick and learning a speech from Faust by heart is not enough if your aim is to become a truly civilized person and not to sink below the level of your surroundings. [From a letter to Nikolay Chekhov, March 1886]

Games are not fun when you don't know you're playing.

I annoy people," he said. "Believe me. I'm aware. It's an effective way to communicate if you don't have any other options. If you can't get in through the door, throw a rock through the window. And I think maybe you're the same way. - David, to Stevie

DETECTION HAS MANY METHODS, MANY PATHWAYS, NARROW AND subtle. Fingerprints. The lost piece of thread. The dog barking in the night. But there is also Google.

Anxiety and excitement are cousins; they can be mistaken for each other at points. They have many features in common—the bubbling, carbonated feel of the emotion, the speed, the wide eyes and racing heart. But where excitement tends to take you up, into the higher, brighter levels of feeling, anxiety pulls you down, making you feel like you have to grip the earth to keep from sliding off as it turns.

No moose," Stevie said. "The moose is a lie.

The real magic rocks are the friends we make along the way.

There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defences of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.

He looked a bit more confused by Stevie and David, but nodded politely. “I’m a watch ad,” David said. “She’s a hipster grandpa. Together, we solve crime.

You probably don't like snow, right?' 'Oh, I like it,' Nate said. 'Snow makes it socially acceptable to stay in.

How does this keep happening to you?” David said. “Because I look,” Stevie replied. “A lot of things happen when you go out and do them on purpose.

I always wanted stories to be real, so I started writing my own.

It's funny when you smile," she said. "It's like a rainbow on a cloudy day." "Don't ever say that to me again.

Are you trying to make me have an emotion?...Because I've spent by whole life learning how to repress and deflect and you're kind of ruining my thing

QUESTION EVERYTHING; STAND BACK, I’M GOING TO TRY SCIENCE!; I REJECT YOUR REALITY AND SUBSTITUTE MY OWN.

There are reasons for everything, even if we don't know them," Stevie said. "Motive." "Okay," Nate said. "My motive is that I prefer dragons." "To what?" "To the absence of dragons.

Last things were so strange. Most people had no control over of what their last acts would be.

I’m still going to eat a lot of tacos,” Nate said. “But I’m going to do it judgmentally

What you lack in any investigation is time. With every passing hour, evidence slips away. Crime scenes are compromised by people and the elements. Things are moved, altered, smeared, shifted. Organisms rot. Wind blows dust and contaminants. Memories change and fade. As you move away from the event, you move away from the solution.

Few words are more chilling when put together than make friends. The command to pair bond sent ice water through Stevie’s veins. She wanted falling rocks. But she knew what would happen if she didn’t do the talking—her parents would. And if her parents started, anything could happen.

Shock is a funny thing. Things get both sharp and fuzzy. Time stretches and distorts. Things come rushing into focus and seem larger than they are. Other things vanish to a single point.

Panic attacks are mean little freaks.

That was something they taught you in anxiety therapy- the thoughts may come, but you don't have to chase them all. It was sort of the opposite of good detective work, in which you had to follow every lead.

You don't get things past librarians.

Did they know that Arthur Conan Doyle went on to investigate mysteries in his real life and absolved a man for a crime for which he has been convicted? Did they know how Agatha Christie brilliantly staged her own disappearance in order to exact an elegant revenge on a cheating husband? They probably did not. And no one was going to discount Stevie Bell, who had gotten into this school on the wings of her interest in the Ellingham case, and who had been a bystander at a death that was now looking more and more suspicious.

What do you do when the devil turns up in your living room and offers you everything you want?

Fashions come and go, but jawlines are eternal.

Nate, she is back - what are you doing?" Janelle said. "She's back!" Janelle bounced on the balls of her feet a bit. "I'm hugging you with my mind," he replied. "I'm awkwardly accepting your hug in my mind," Stevie said.

Vitamin D,” Stevie said. “You need it.” “You don’t know that,” he said. “I want to eat my meat in my room with the lights off.” “As a writer, are those really the words you want to use?” Stevie asked.

Where do you look for someone who's never really there? Always on a staircase but never on a stair.

His voice was deep and smooth and rich, like what gravy might sound like if gravy could talk.

How could she be anxious when everything was so cheerful? Very easily, as it happens. Brain chemistry doesn’t care about how pretty things are.

Anxiety, her therapist had told her many times, never killed anyone. It felt like death, but it was an illusion. A terrible illusion that inhabited your body and tried to make it its puppet. It told you nothing mattered because everything was made of fear.

Anxiety is very accommodating. Minutes ago, Stevie’s anxiety was all about failure. It neatly converted itself into worry about places called Bounce Houses and not having hot water or air-conditioning. It was perfectly ready to bring the snakes to the party. It’s a big tent. All problems are welcome.

Mostly, Stevie forgot she had a body, and when someone else noticed her body, it made her look down and go, huh. Would you look at that. How long has that been there?

Maybe he understood how terrifying it is to do the thing you meant to do.

Never question the girl who works in the library" -Eric

Don't follow someone into the dark, Stevie. I've seen it happen too many times.

People say depression lies. Anxiety is just stupid. It’s unable to tell the difference between things that are actually scary (being buried alive, for example) and things that are not scary at all (being in bed under the covers). It hits all the same buttons. Stop. Go. Up. Down. It’s all the same to anxiety.

It turns out I'm really good at this stuff." "I always believed in you," Stevie said. "Did you?" "No," Stevie said. "But you have a nice ass, so I let you slide." They smiled at each other from a thousand miles away. Stevie had never felt closer to him.

This is how she had learned to release some of her anxiety—thoughts may come, but she didn’t have to follow them everywhere they wanted her to go.

Every contact leaves a trace.

Her parents had no idea that you could meet people outside of school and it wasn’t freaky and the internet was the way of finding your people.

I like to look nice when I go to see His Majesty, the Burger King.

I'm scared." To Nate's credit, he did not ask why she was scared, and he did not tell her not to be scared. Maybe he understood how terrifying it is to do the thing you meant to do.

She stood back and examined the overall effect, then tweaked until the arrangement was just right. Where her books were, she was. Get the books right and the rest will follow. Now she could address the rest of the room.

Fun fact," Stevie said, trying to lighten the mood in the vast, gloomy space. "This fireplace? Henry the Eighth had one just like it, in Hampton Court. Albert Ellingham had an exact copy made." "Fun fact," Nate replied, "Henry the Eighth killed two of his wives. Who wants a murderer's fireplace?" "I'm not sure, but that's the name of my new game show.

There is a mistaken notion that wealth makes people content. It does the opposite, generally. It stirs a hunger in many - and no matter what they eat, they will never be full.

If Gertie van Coevorden had two brain cells, each would be amazed to know of the other's existence.

Stevie had no fears of the dead. The living, however, sometimes gave her the creeps.

Except for his eyes. Those were completely bloodshot. “What time did you get up?” David said, looking him over. “Four twenty?

That’s the thing about speaking—you can talk and talk and have no idea at all what the words leaving your mouth mean, or where they came from.

Sometimes anxiety did that—it could slow you down or speed you up.

You know, the best fanfic I ever read was an erotic story about Thor and Tony Stark living together on a Christmas tree sex farm.

Charles had a look on his face said, "I'm not angry, but I am disappointed." Dr. Quinn's expression said, "He's passive-aggressive. I'm not. I am aggressive. I have killed before."

The critical scene of the mystery is when the detective enters. The action shifts to Sherlock’s sitting room. The little Belgian man with the waxed moustache appears in the lobby of the grand hotel. The gentle old woman with a bag of knitting comes to visit her niece when the poison pen letters start going around the village. The private detective comes back to the office after a night of drinking and finds the woman with the cigarette and the veiled hat this is when things will change.

night,” he said. “All. Night. He talked about my book. Mostly, what he thought was wrong with it. And where is the second one? He knows more about that book than I do. He is a sentient internet comment.

Reading is on of the greatest pleasure of life - maybe the greatest. It's true. All the money, all the power - none of it compares to a good book. A book gives you everything. It gives you a window into other souls, other worlds. The world is a door. Books are the key" -Albert Ellingham

Aunt Amelia would perish on the spot if she walked in on such… impropriety.” “Hmm. Her untimely end would excuse you from any more embroidery lessons, would it not? Perhaps we should skip the dancing and passionately embrace instead.” “Thomas,” I chided. I told myself the sooner we discovered who the murderer was, the sooner I’d be rid of Thomas Cresswell and his devious ways. We’d be kissing in back alleys before I knew it. Then my reputation would truly be in the gutter.

Stevie always tried to be truthful, but she didn't want to make her first acquaintance in her new house and say, "Your show was mediocre and overrated but I see why you are valued: for your looks and deep voice." People tended not to warm to that kind of thing.

The moose is a lie," Stevie Bell said. Her mother turned to her, looking like she often looked - a bit tired, forced to engage in whatever Stevie was about to say out of parental obligation. "What?" she said. Stevie pointed out the window of the coach. "See that?" Stevie indicated a sign that simply read MOOSE. "We've passed five of those. That's a lot of promise. Not one moose." "Stevie ..." "They also promised falling rocks. Where are my falling rocks?" "Stevie ..." "I'm a strong believer in truth in advertising," Stevie said.

Stevie, how many stories -" "It's all one story," Stevie said, and the confidence in her voice surprised her. "It was about money then, and it's about money now.

Pumpkins were the watermelons of fall.

Therapy," she said. "It works." "I've tried it. They always end up crying. I think I've helped them have some real breakthrough moments.

There were for sure snakes at the camp. It was entirely made of snakes. Why hadn’t she thought of the snakes?

Funny how the world shifts when you’re in the same space with your friends. The air is energized, the light is warmer.

I’ve got a murder mansion, a house full of suspects, a pile of evidence, and nothing.

It’s been a long week,” Nate said. “Don’t leave again. Don’t leave me with these people.” “Which people?” “Any people.” “I don’t count as people?” “Of course not,” he said. “It’s been all feelings and love. I want to go back to numbness and avoidance. You’re great at that stuff.

Slippers always seemed like kind of a nonsense item until she came to Ellingham and felt the bathroom floor on the first proper day of wintry weather. Once skin touched tile and part of her soul died, she knew what slippers were for.

The fact is," he said, "I liked you from the first moment I saw you, when you looked like you wanted to punch me in the face for just being alive. That probably says something dark about me. And I think you like me because I annoy you. Both of us have real problems, but maybe we should make our weird personalities work for us.

Allow me to presume upon this new friendship of ours by telling you that denying your fiance your company in order to gain whatever it is you want, is not only foolish but risky. It was obvious to me that his grace has a great affection for you, and I truly think he would give you anything you want if you simply gave him that lovely smile of yours and asked him for it. Deceit and deviousness do you no credit, my child, and what's more, they will get you absolutely nowhere with the duke. He has known females far more skilled in deception and trickery than you, and all those ladies ever got from him was the opportunity to amuse him for a very brief time. While you, by being direct and forthright as I sense that you are, have gained the very thing those other females most desired. You have gained the offer of his grace's hand in marriage." -Dr. Whitticomb

And then, it arrived. Anxiety does not ask your permission. Anxiety does not come when expected. It's very rude. It barges in at the strangest moments, stopping all activity, focusing everything on itself. It sucks the air out of your lungs and scrambles the world. Her vision went spotty around the edges. The ringing in her ears swelled again. Her knees buckled.

Her attention was drawn to a movement in the woods in the direction of the river. The trees were slowly coming back into bud, but they were still bare enough that she could make out a shape. "Moose," she said, almost in a whisper. "Moose. Moose." She tugged Nate's sleeve. "Moose," she repeated. The object moved away, out of sight. Stevie blinked. It had just been there, the massive antlers moving through the trees. "My moose," she said in a low voice. "I finally got it. The universe paid me in moose." With one backward glance at the magical spot, Stevie Bell resumed walking toward her class. Anatomy was still ahead of her. Lots of things were ahead of her, but this one was the closest. "That wasn't a moose, was it?" Janelle said when Stevie was out of earshot. "That's a branch, right? It moved in the wind?" "It's a branch," Nate replied. "Like, that's obviously a branch," Vi said. "Should we tell her? She seems really invested in this." "Definitely not," Nate said as Stevie vanished in the direction of the classroom buildings, earbuds already in her ears. "Let her have her moose.

Tell her about the screaming," Janelle said. "Because I can't." "The screaming?" Stevie repeated. "The other morning he started something called 'screaming meditation'," Nate said. "Guess what happens in screaming meditation? Did you guess screaming? For fifteen minutes? Because that's what happens in screaming meditation. Fifteen. Minutes. Outside. At five in the morning. Do you know what happens when someone screams outside at a remote location in the mountains, especially after a...

There were night sounds that Stevie had still not come to grips with - the rustling on the ground and above, the hooting of owls - things that suggested that far more happened here at night than during the day. (And yet, Stevie had yet to see the one creature that had been promised in sign after sign along the highway, the ones that read MOOSE. One moose. That's all she wanted. Was that too much to ask? Instead, there were these suggestions of owls, and all Stevie ever heard about the owls was that they liked shiny things and would eat your eyes given half the chance.)

Nate came into the room and kicked the door half closed behind him. "Here's the thing. You've gone kind of psycho. I have never willingly gone to a dance in my life. But I am doing this because you are my friend, okay? And something is wrong with you. I don't want to go to this, obviously. And you don't want to go to this. I'm doing this for you, for your own good. This is the one and only time I'm offering to do something like this. Sometimes you have to leave the fucking Shire, Frodo. If we're friends, get up, and come with me now. And you should take that seriously, because you are kind of losing friends all over the place." He extended his hand to her. "You're serious." "I'm serious." She looked down at her lists and up at Nate. "You're wearing a tie," she said. "I know." "Is that a dance thing?" "How would I know? Do I look like I go to a lot of dances?" Stevie felt like she was made of concrete and attached to the floor. But seeing Nate there, seeing the effort he was going to, she felt her moorings come loose.

I'm trying to figure out if this is the stupidest thing I've ever done," Nate said as he kept up the rear with Stevie. "I don't think it is, and that worries me." "It probably isn't." "I mean, the thing with the files is crazy. I honestly don't even know if I'm going to look at them" "Then why did you stay?" she asked. "Because," Nate said, tipping his head toward David, "when you and he get together, something bad happens to you." Stevie swallowed down a lump in her throat. She wanted to reach over and grab Nate's hand at that moment, except that Nate would probably receive the gesture with as much enthusiasm as a handful of spiders.

She means," Nate said, turning away from the books, "That David has gone full weird." "He was always that way<' Janelle said in a low voice. "Yeah, but now he's completed his journey. Our little caterpillar has turned into a freaky butterfly." "Tell her about the screaming," Janelle said. "Because I can't." "The screaming? Stevie repeated. "The other morning he started something called 'screaming meditation'," Nate said. "Guess what happens in screaming meditation? Did you guess screaming? For fifteen minutes? Because that's what happens in screaming meditation. Fifteen. Minutes. Outside. At five in the morning. Do you know what happens when someone screams outside for fifteen minutes at five in the morning at a remote location in the mountains, especially after a . . ." The implied dot dot dot was "student dies in a terrible accident or maybe murder and another one goes missing." "When security got to him he claimed it was his new religion and that it is something he needs to do every morning now as a way to talk to the sun." So this is what Edward King had been referring to. "Sometimes," Nate went on, tapping the books into place so that the spines lined up perfectly, "he sleeps on the roof. Or somewhere else. Sometimes the green." "Naked," Janelle added. "He sleeps on the green naked." "Or in classrooms," Nate said. "Someone said they went into differential equations and he was asleep in the corner of the room under a Pokémon comforter." "Your boy has not been well," Janelle said.