The Borgia Betrayal Quotes

“How is it possible for people to have so much power yet be so stupid?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“The thick murmur of my name on his tongue was almost enough to push me over the edge as I clung to the sweetly strange need to hold him safe within my arms. Even, dare I say, within my body. Is it the conceit of every woman that she can provide such a haven? Is it the dream of every man to find it?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“In the aftermath, we lay side by side, struggling for breath. I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly down his arm. Cesare seized my hand and pressed it to his lips. We remained like that as slowly the world righted itself.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“You are bruised.'
'Am I? I hadn't noticed.'
'Lucrezia says you killed the bastard.'
... Cesare's hands were shaking. Hard, sun-darkened hands made to hold a sword or lance unflinchingly, but they trembled against my pale skin.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Something unfathomable moved behind his eyes. He sighed deeply.
'Do you ever, even once,' he asked, 'consider the price of caring about you?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Who are you?'
'My name is Francesca Giordano.'
Il re dei contrabbandieri paled. He pressed himself into the high back of his chair and stared at me in disbelief.
'You can't be her. She's old and has warts.'
'Because she is strega? Ask yourself, why would any self-respecting witch go about looking old and with warts?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Popes come and go, empires clash, new worlds arise, but Rome is eternally Rome, which is to say that its people were busy as always sweating, swearing, eating, fornicating, occasionally praying, and without surcease, gossiping.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Truly, Francesca, if all women were like you, I would become a Turk solely for the purpose of assembling a harem.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Giulia clasped her hands together just below her bosom, blinked moistly, and flung herself at Borgia's feet. 'My lord! My darling! How could I not be overcome with concern for you? Truly, the burdens you carry would crush any other man. How fortunate we are that Our Father in Heaven has endowed our father here on earth with such wisdom and strength to see us through this difficult time.'
What amazed me - and still does - is that men actually believe such drivel. Even a man as worldly, as brilliant, and above all as cynical as Borgia will nod complacently and accept it as his due. Nor did Cesare so much as raise an eyebrow. I supposed he heard the same sort of thing often enough himself.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“We are all of us balanced on Fortuna's wheel, clinging as best we can lest we tumble needlessly into Fata's dark maw. Yet we can, if we dare, let go and in that golden moment find the strength of our wings unfurling.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“If his Holiness asks for me, tell him I am -" I was what? What excuse would be sufficient to hold off Borgia the Bull when he wanted, nay demanded attention?
'Tell him I am attending to a gynecological matter but will return shortly.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Men prickle for so many reasons it is often impossible to know what provokes them on any given occasion.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“... I opened the door to a knock and found a ashen-faced messenger quailing at the prospect of facing an undead witch who was, as I shortly learned, the talk of Rome.
The poor man thrust a package into my arms, declined any payment, and fled with such alacrity that I waited to make sure did not fall headfirst down the steps before stepping back inside my apartment.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“Christ's breath, how do you even have the wit to live?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“.... I am in no position to judge you or anything you do.'
'Yet you think I could be judged were you not so magnanimous as to forgo the exercise?”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal

“He was then sixty-two years old, an age by which most men are in the grave or at least occupying a chair in Death's antechamber.”
― Sara Poole, The Borgia Betrayal