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These feelings you engender in me, my lord, are most indelicate. You should stop causing them immediately.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Indelicate
Engender
Causing
Immediately
Stop
Lord
Feelings

More quotes by Gail Carriger

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Why? I mean, why you? I can perfectly comprehend not liking my husband. I dislike him intensely most of the time.” Professor Lyall stifled a chuckle. “I am given to understand that he does not approve of spelling one’ s name with two ll’s. He finds it inexcusably Welsh. I suspect he may be quite taken with you, however.
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His lordship can eat my fat—
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Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.
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A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age.
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Alphas simply did not grovel arrogance was part of the job description.
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Acknowledgements With grateful thanks to the three least-appreciated and hardest-working proselytizers of the written word: independent bookstores, librarians, and teachers.
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And I find perfect beauty excessively boring, don't you?
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Hello, princess,” said Lord Maccon to the vampire. “Got yourself into quite a pickle this time, didn't you?” Lord Akeldama looked him up and down. “My sweet young naked boy, you are hardly one to talk. Not that I mind, of course.
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Alexia,” she hissed to her friend, “there are knees positively everywhere. What do I do?
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Sophronia was minding her own business and running late to luncheon, as was her custom. She'd let to learn the advantage of punctuality. As she told Sister Mattie the third time she was late to household potions and poisons, nothing interesting happened until after an event commenced.
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Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied
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He is clearly bookish. I did not follow a single word of their conversation at dinner last night, not one jot of it. He must be bookish.
Gail Carriger
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...Tunstell was not what one could describe as call subtle. His flaming red hair bobbed up with each pointed and articulated footstep as though he were some cloaked Gothic villain creeping across a stage.
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Someone was trying to kill Lady Alexia Maccon. It was most inconvenient, as she was in a dreadful hurry. Given her previous familiarity with near-death experiences and their comparative frequency with regards to her good self, Alexia should probably have allowed extra time for such a predictable happenstance.
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Ever since her trip with Alexia to Scotland, Mrs. Tunstell had rather a taste for foreign travel. Alexia blamed it on the kilts.
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Ah, Ivy, thought Alexia happily, spreading a verbal fog wherever she goes.
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Lord Maccon reflected upon the state of his life wherein he had somehow gained a spouse who could not give a pig's foot for the latest dresses out of Paris but who whined about not owning an aethographic transmitter. Well, at least the two were comparable obsessions so far as expense was concerned.
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It's no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.
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Please, Lord Maccon, use one of the cups. My delicate sensibilities.” The earl actually snorted. “My dear Miss Tarabotti, if you possessed any such things, you certainly have never shown them to me.
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His eyes are peculiar. There is nothing in them, like an eclair without the cream filling. It's wrong, lack of cream.
Gail Carriger