Historical Fiction Mystery Quotes & Sayings

I like to write literature that reads like pulp fiction. — Nike N. Chillemi

In the end, I listen to my fear. It keeps me awake, resounding through the frantic beating in my breast. It is there in the dry terror in my throat, in the pricking of the rats' nervous feet in the darkness. Christian has not come home all the night long. I know, for I have lain in this darkness for hours now with my eyes stretched wide, yearning for my son's return. — Ned Hayes

I reckon it's true what they say that good begets good and bad begets bad. The evil men do lives on after them, but what good they done gets buried with their bones. — Lisa Kaye Presley

He stopped in a seedy alley in Holborn where he jumped down from the carriage, held a muttered conference with a dirty, one-eyed old woman, and climbed back in, his arms full of grubby cloth.
She wrinkled her nose. "Phew. What the devil is all that?"
"It's a dress."
"Oh, no. I'm not putting that on. It stinks of last week's washing up."
"It smells of the people. — Y.S. Lee

The heavy rain dripped off his thick leather hat and sloshed on the dry hard ground. To someone with a soul, it might have been peaceful, pretty, even to watch the drops bounce and form graceful puddles before they disappeared into the cracks in the Earth.

Daniel Marlin merely cursed. He only saw the weather as another delay before they could rescue their brother from jail. He turned the horse back into the copse of trees, hating to admit defeat. — Grace Willows

I could write historical fiction, or science fiction, or a mystery but since I find it fascinating to research the clues of some little know period and develop a story based on that, I will probably continue to do it. — Jean M. Auel

She had very much looked forward to a word in private with him. But she forgot, as she usually did, the silence that always came between them in these latter years, whenever they found themselves alone.

The queer sensation in her chest, however, was all too familiar, that mix of pleasure and pain, never one without the other.

She could have done without those feelings. She would have happily gone her entire life never experiencing the pangs of longing and the futility of regret. He made her human - or as human as she was capable of being. And being human was possibly her least favorite aspect of life. — Sherry Thomas

The spicy sweet fragrance of the large full blooms, which rambled over the side and top of an arched metal framework, welcomed them as they walked beneath them. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, dust motes floating languorously in the golden beams that spotlighted clumps of wayward snowdrops growing in the lawn. — Ellen Read

Romantic fiction, in the broader sense, can be any novel that has a love story somewhere in it. It can be a mystery or a historical novel, as long as it has this very strong romantic thread running through it. — Susanna Kearsley

I'm an idiot for trying to avoid these feelings because they have caused me pain in the past. — Kellyn Roth

I found out after reading quite a lot of it that it is not rated very high. He has a very descriptive way of writing but also lengthy. May not want to finish!!!!! This was his 1sr and only try ast Historical Fiction! — Wilkie Collins

I've been typed as historical fiction, historical women's fiction, historical mystery, historical chick lit, historical romance - all for the same book. — Lauren Willig

She and I are as far apart as the stars in the sky and the soles of my feet." Detective Sean Ryan ~Deception on Sable Hill by Shelley Gray — Shelley Gray

The thing about being a mystery writer, what marks a mystery writer out from a chick lit author or historical fiction writer, is that you always find a mystery in every situation. — Tana French

What was justice, after all, but a particular outcome? — Suzanne Rindell

If Miss Elton spoke water instead of words, then there would have been a repetition of Noah's flood. — Kellyn Roth

Historical novels are about costumery. I think that's the magic and mystery of fiction. I don't want to write historical fiction but I do want the story to have the feel of history. There's a difference. — Chang-rae Lee

True love is like little roses,
sweet, fragrant in small doses. — Ana Claudia Antunes

Ghosts!" gasped Alice. "Real, live ghosts?"

"No! Not 'real, live ghosts!' Spooky, dead ghosts! — Kellyn Roth

As my body recalled my soul, I began to quiver with pain and gasp for air. — Nancy B. Brewer

Burlic screamed. He threw back his head and roared a single furious word into the night: "Waeccan." The name erupted from him in a savage wail that rasped at his throat, over and over until he could shout no more.
His howls echoed along the valley. In the village, the other hunters heard and exchanged glances, shook their heads and said nothing. The women clutched their talismans, told the children to go inside. They had tried to help, but there was nothing they could do for Burlic now. — Mikey Campling

Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius's voice telling a tale. Liam's flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whitsunday and through Midsummer. Salvius is a mockingbird: he can give a fair charade of the rhythmic tones of any wandering bard or any noble of the Royal Court.In this darkness, his eyes catch the light like a cat in the night. — Ned Hayes

Like a sparrow in its flitting, like a swallow in its flying, a curse that is causeless does not alight. — Nancy B. Brewer

Rooks have clustered on either side of the long road. It is as if they line a grand parade route for our passage. Their black feathers are stark as soot against the white road and the snow. They stab at the ground with their strange bare bills and gray unfeathered faces. The birds are like rough-edged black stones on a string around this stripped cold neck of road. The old books tell us rooks bring the virtuous dead to heaven's gate. — Ned Hayes

A smile is hidden beneath the mustache, it crinkles the corners of his hooded eyes. "I didn't. I have other business in town and I told my friend I would attend to the matter of his son, as he could not do so himself."
"Very kind of you."
"Yes. I have been looking forward to it for quite some time."
Daddy's lemonade is almost gone, he sips it carefully, turning his eyes back to the water. "Looking forward to seeing the lad or to conducting your business?" Daddy is toying with him.
"Both. You see, I had never actually met his son." The glass rests against Daddy's lips, unmoving. Mr. Geyer watches him closely. "But now I have, so I can get on with my," he fixes his own gaze on the water, as though trying to see whatever it is that has transfixed my father, "business. — Gwenn Wright

Hello Readers! I look forward to adding to my author page. I — Rita Gard Seedorf

Life is volatile. — Robert J. Pajer

What had these people done to deserve a band of desperate rebels turning up on their doorsteps, and now more trouble!

Yet, what had any of them done, what gods had they displeased to deserve the calamity that was the Romans? — Margaret McGoverne

I believe we do well to fall asleep each night with books. We enter the library of our dreams in good company then. — Robert Stephen Parry

The wiry man scratched his head, looked the two inquisitors up and down and cleared his throat softly. "We must be quick." He turned to go, pulling his cloak over his head and shuffling through the door into the moonlight. The two inquisitors moved with impossible silence behind, floating across the straw-covered floor like the cats on the walls outside the hut. The cats froze at the disturbance before scurrying noiselessly into the shadows as the three silhouettes crossed the ten yards of grass before the blackness of the forest swallowed them. No fires flickered at this time, when the full moon was highest in the cloudless summer sky, and the three were the only waking souls in the hamlet. — Gregory Figg

William made an ejaculation in his own language that I didn't understand, nor did the abbot understand it, and perhaps it was best for us both, because the word William uttered had an obscene hissing sound. — Umberto Eco

It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what men tell her she can't. — Carol K. Carr

How men fear the chaos of the world, I thought, and the yawning eternity hereafter. So we build patterns to explain its terrible mysteries and reassure ourselves we are safe in this world and beyond. — C.J. Sansom

LIPID (Last Idiot Person I Dated) syndrome: a largely undiagnosed but pervasive disease that afflicts single women. — Lauren Willig

Life, like that water droplet, is everlasting and imperishable. There is only a transition, never an end ! — Rajib Mukherjee

Durand smiles. There is nothing behind the smile except perhaps another smile, repeating ad infinitum into the distance.
'Of course,' he says. — Beatrice Hitchman

The kindest thing you can offer an author is a review and a star rating. So appreciated.
THE GOLDEN PEACOCK has had a successful 5-star run on Goodreads and on Amazon. Thank you!" Lauren B. Grossman — Lauren B. Grossman

There are some varieties of fiction that I never touch - mystery stories, for instance, which I abhor, and historical novels. I also detest the so-called "powerful" novel - full of commonplace obscenities and torrents of dialog. — Vladimir Nabokov

I don't know where we are, but we'll soon find our way home! Le avventure di Pinocchio — Nancy B. Brewer

These were not the belongings of the past prisoner he had imagined. These were a lady's things - hairpins and stockings and a glove. There were more clues waiting but William no longer felt certain he wanted to know the dark secrets of this cell. — Gwenn Wright

He has been preparing his life and his poetry for just such a woman, just such intermingling of beauty and sorrow and mystery. But a woman like her will not settle into the role of helpmeet or muse; she is too adventurous, too vital, too fond of sensation. She will want to be, an ally. An equal. What can he, a poor student of poetry, offer her? Only his words. — Orna Ross

It would be, like all of Pammy's parties, hot and crowded and filled with impossibly glamorous people with hip bones so sharp they could qualify as concealed weapons. — Lauren Willig

Every great day has a story and a song! — Faith Reese Martin

I was fifteen when I first met Sherlock Holmes, fifteen years old with my nose in a book as I walked the Sussex Downs, and nearly stepped on him. In my defense I must say it was an engrossing book, and it was very rare to come across another person in that particular part of the world in that war year of 1915. — Laurie R. King

Elsa's mother no longer spoke to her of men and love, but of duty and fate and accepting one's burden. As far as Elsa could tell, if love really was the inherited female domain, then women were saddled with the biggest burden of all. It was pressing down upon them, the way the sea pressed down upon the creatures of the deep. — Kathy-Diane Leveille

History buffs expect historical background in historical fiction. Mystery readers expect forensics and police procedure in crime fiction. Westerns - gasp - describe the West. Techno-thriller readers expect to learn something about technology from their fiction. — Edward M. Lerner

Yet, the quest for knowledge will overcome us and we must know. And, at last, we must see where the road ends, even if it be the cliff. — Nancy B. Brewer