The Briar Club

by Kate Quinn

If these walls could talk. Well, they may not be talking, but they are certainly listening. And watching.

Only patsies worry about being liked, Pete. The only thing that matters is whether they pay their rent on time.

“I make it a policy never to believe more than a third of what men tell me,”

Life really hasn’t been very fair to you, Pete. I’m sorry about that.” “Mom says life isn’t fair and that’s all there is to it.” “Your mother says that to justify the fact that she isn’t being fair to you,” Mrs. Grace said calmly. “Which is mostly what people mean when they say ‘life isn’t fair.’ It isn’t, which is why people should endeavor to be more fair to one another, not less.”

“A successful dinner party needs just one person all the others loathe, Pete—it gives everyone something to unite against.”

“Diets might be good for the waistline but not for the temperament,” Grace advised. “Eat the red meat, sugar pie.”

You can’t call yourself a proper home without the regular smell of good food

“Our people all spoke different languages and maybe still do; we look different; we live in every possible location from cities to towns, mountains to plains. But”—she waved at the Bill of Rights, including its sister documents off in the Library of Congress—“this unites us. A government established for an articulated principle, not tribal allegiances or lines drawn on a map.”

‘A more perfect union’—it’s right there in our foundations that we aren’t perfect, that we have more to strive for.”

We’re the country who said, ‘Here we are; let’s live by these principles and keep getting better at living up to them.’”

“Communism is the stupidest system on the planet.” Xavier refilled his coffee. “It ignores the biggest urge people got, which is that they want to build something. First for them, then for their kids. Ignore that urge, you’ll get in trouble fast. Maybe Communism is perfect on paper to some economist, but it doesn’t account for the fact that humanity thrives on imperfection.”

Nothing wreaks havoc like a weak man—because they never learn, so they just go blithely on, leaving pain and wreckage behind them.”

Life wasn’t going to coddle most people in a cork-lined room while they worked out their demons.

“If I wanted to be a Communist in America, I’d just join a church.”

Live as long as I have and you’ll realize that whether the organization you put your faith in brandishes a Bible or a copy of Das Kapital, the haves in that organization are rarely interested in sharing with the have-nots.”

“Whatever it is that’s eating you up . . . It’ll poison whatever time you’ve got left, if you aren’t careful.” She took up the brush, reached for the primer. “Let it go.”

“Happiness.” Grace rose, smoothing her skirt. “It’s a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud—or at least, that’s what I’ve always thought.”

The satisfaction of saying bloody was visceral, violent. Americans thought it was so cute when she said that; they didn’t know it was real swearing in England. Fliss’s mum considered it just a step removed from fuck.

Communism itself is dangerous. It goes against human nature, because we want to enjoy the results of our own work. We want to build something for ourselves and our children, not see it get scooped away and given to someone else. Any ideology that ignores a human urge that basic isn’t just dangerous, it’s idiotic.”

“I’ve never seen you look so lit up,” Grace observed as Bea fought clear of her high-fiving teammates at home plate. “Like Edison kitted you out with special light bulbs.”

“We’re not friends who go to the beach. We’re friends who . . .” Fuck. She mouthed it silently. “We go somewhere to be alone, and scratch the itch that needs scratching, that’s all.”