At First Light Quotes

“A door in the back opened, and a sixtysomething man the same faded brown color as much of his merchandise emerged carrying a tray with tea and pastries. Not tall, gently rotund, and owning a long face bracketed by drooping earlobes, Simon Levair resembled nothing so much as a contented basset hound.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Addie’s heart tore at the sight of so many helpless feathered things, forever kept from the sky.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Remember: fate goes ever as it must. And I am your fate.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Someone—perhaps Nietzsche—once said that those seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“How did one launch a cannon of logic against the impenetrable fortress of insanity?”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“A child who is troubled or traumatized will look outside himself for an acceptable narrative. He (or she) will turn to the stories of others in order to give meaning and shape to his own life.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Until they met, Evan hadn’t realized how much of a mask he wore. Every person who falls outside the bell curve of what is defined as “normal” has to do the same—put on seemingly indestructible armor and go out to slay the dragons, be they out-of-reach coat hooks, steep stairwells, or merely the sideways glances and uneasy giggles of the ignorant.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“And his home, which was a safe place in a world that did not look kindly on its children when those children were different.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Someone—perhaps Nietzsche—once said that those seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music. Our job is to find the killer’s music.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“sinister? Question piled on question. Who had made it through his gate and to his doorstep? Was it the same person who had hacked his sound system? Was it really just an irate student who also threw axes and had something against Sten Elger? Simon reemerged with a fresh pot of tea and another plate of scones. “More for everyone?” “Please,” Evan said, grateful for the normalcy, while Christina murmured, “You’re a peach, Simon.” Simon blushed. “Just don’t tell my clients that. I prefer they think of me”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Poets were those who never meant only one thing with their words.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“the nine regions of Westeros in George R. R. Martin’s epic A Song of Ice and Fire.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“human tendency to see patterns and connections, even where none exist. It’s how we simplify and manage our world. Which is perfectly understandable. But it can also obscure the truth.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“And only, some would say, because we’ve forgotten how to see and hear.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Humans are very good at underestimating each other.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Why did love reduce its sufferers to cliché? And why could he not, like Cyrano, concoct the perfect verse that would render Addie putty in his hands? Why could he not stop thinking in clichés? Not that any of it mattered. Addie loved him. But only as a friend. She saved her romantic interest for the kind of man who could fold up someone like Evan and use him as a snot rag.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“You’re a dwarf,” he said, not meeting Evan’s eyes. “Tommy!” cried Mrs. Snow. “The correct thing to say is that I’m a person with dwarfism. Or a little person. Or a person of short stature.” “A person with dwarfism,” Tommy repeated. “Is it achondroplasia?” “Actually, no.” “But that’s the most common form of dwarfism. Seventy percent of cases.” “True. But I’m unique. One of a kind.” Tommy nodded, seeming satisfied with that. “Do people laugh at you?” “Sometimes.” “People laugh at me.” “People can be asses.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“A pair of coeds strolled by. Their laughter rang like bells in the cold air, giving Evan pause. Their world was the one he preferred to occupy—one of innocent pastimes. Of open futures. Of hope. It was why he enjoyed teaching. He hated murder. Death should be a dry and dusty thing. A thing of old tombs and archaeological digs. Not a mess of blood and mud and a man’s open throat.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“The problem, Addie, is that you and I are living double lives, both of us pretending to the world that the other part of us doesn’t exist. And right now, I think you’re okay with that. You like being the detective with the secret life. And the painter with a hard edge. But until you decide it’s okay for a man to see you as both an artist and a cop, you’re not likely to find yourself with Mr. Right.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“She read the titles aloud. “Bog Bodies. Bodies in the Bog. Bodies from the Bog. Am I making a leap here, or do you think we have a bog body?” “Whatever gave you that idea?” “Aren’t bog victims a little too . . . European for the cornfields of America? Not to mention anachronistic.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Show a little leg, then close the robe until the client shows their coin.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Solving a puzzle of any form was a balm to heart and soul.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“shitticism, from Robert Frost’s description of scatological writing.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“You’re a bit full of yourself for a man who can’t qualify to ride the roller coasters at Disneyland.” Evan heard Addie suck in air, but he offered a mild smile. “A man in your position should know the importance of accuracy. At fifty-three inches, I am eminently qualified to ride anything I choose.” “Is that so?” Criver”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Not at all. The presentation of the body doesn’t fit with the runes. I’m uncertain what to make of this.” “I thought you were the expert,” Patrick said. “Not at making snap decisions.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“He didn’t bother adding what she already knew. That he wanted out of the forensics business. That he had too much other work to do. That he preferred to avoid dead bodies unless they were at least several centuries old. A month after they met, he’d told her he didn’t understand her fascination with the dead. She’d countered by telling him he was the guy who spoke twelve dead languages. “They aren’t just sticks,” Addie said. “There are weird markings on them. Like some kind of writing.” He could almost feel his own ears prick. With some guys, it was boobs or butts that got their motor running. With him, it was writing.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Someone had once told Addie that she went through men the way a rat terrier chewed through vermin—quickly and with ruthless efficiency. But Clay felt different. Never mind that they all felt different until, without warning, they felt like all the others.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Evan’s brain cataloged the word. Shit. From the Old English word scitte, meaning purging or diarrhea. Taboo after the sixteenth century and censored from the works of James Joyce and Hemingway. Modern derivations include shitload—a great many; shit-faced—drunk; and of course shitticism, from Robert Frost’s description of scatological writing. Thus was the curse of being a semiotician. No word too common to avoid scrutiny.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Come on, Ginny. Be a love.” His breath hung in a cloud. Falconry was a humbling art. Hawks were not domestic—they were sharp-taloned, razor-beaked, feathery tufts of wildness that condescended now and again to perch upon an offered fist. While his love for the young Ginny had been instant and all-consuming, hers for him was a slow-blooming affair, a bond built on the steady accretion of trust. That, and a regular supply of raw meat.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light

“Every murderer creates his own story. This story may be simple or elaborate, coherent or deeply fragmented. Serial murderers often leave signs and symbols at the crime scene—messages for the police to decipher. Notes, maps, images. The posing of the body, a unique modus operandi. The killer is the riddler extraordinaire, and his narrative—the story he wishes to tell—is the enigma he presents to the detective. Someone—perhaps Nietzsche—once said that those seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music. Our job is to find the killer’s music.”
― Barbara Nickless, At First Light