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Lord Maccon was built like a brick outhouse, with opinions twice as unmoving and often equally full of crap.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Opinions
Built
Outhouse
Full
Unmoving
Opinion
Brick
Lord
Bricks
Often
Crap
Like
Twice
Equally

More quotes by Gail Carriger

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[She] lost her patience, a thing she was all too prone to misplacing.
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Alexia had spent long hours wondering over that mustache. Werewolves did not grow hair, as they did not age. Where had it come from? Had he always had it? For how many centuries had his poor abused upper lip labored under the burden of such vegetation?
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Madame Lefoux accepted a cup of tea and sat on another little settee, next to the relocated calico cat. The cat clearly believed Madame Lefoux was there to provide chin scratches. Madame Lefoux provided.
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Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds. Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?
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He...boasted an unassuming mustache, which was perched atop his upper lip cautiously, as though it were slightly embarrassed to be there and would like to slide away and become a sideburn or something more fashionable.
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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.
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Even Alexia, spinster that she was, was given an allowance large enough to dress her to the height of fashion— although she did tend to stick to trends a little too precisely. The poor thing could not help it. Her choice of clothing simply lacked soul.
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Alphas simply did not grovel arrogance was part of the job description.
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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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The important question is, what will your wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.
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His lordship can eat my fat—
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How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.
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I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.
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What’s that?” she asked the girl, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, that? That’s just Pillover.” “And what’s a pillover, when it’s at home?” “My little brother.” “Ah, I commiserate. I have several of my own. Dashed inconvenient, brothers.
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Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.
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I am entirely capable. Of what, waddling up to someone and ruthlessly bumping into them?
Gail Carriger
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Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied
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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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I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!
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The duke contents himself mainly with attempting to rule the world and other suchlike nonsense. When one is guiding the patterns of the social universe, a single spinster preternatural is unlikely to cause one undue distress.
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