Bluestocking Girl Quotes

“How many times can a heart be shattered and still be pieced back together? How many times before the damage is irreparable?”
― Gwenn Wright, The BlueStocking Girl

“Whatever happened in those more than one hundred years, from the time my great-great-great grandfather studied law to the time when my own father took his bar exam in 1989, I may never know. Perhaps it was just greed and the good, old-fashion corruption that comes with power. The Drexlers have moved from the fight for human rights to the fight for corporations and wealthy individuals. We file their taxes, write their contracts, clean up their messes. As I see it, we have become little more than glorified Public Relations reps”
― Gwenn Wright, The BlueStocking Girl

“My heart, for unknown reasons, seems to freeze in motion in my chest. I can see he senses it and he holds his pause to enjoy my suffering, prolonging my ignorance. “Viktor, what?”
― Gwenn Wright, The BlueStocking Girl

“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, The BlueStocking Girl

“All I know is that the fear I have been battling all night is breaking down the door of my ignorance. As my feet slam down I feel not the hard, wet asphalt but the soft Persian rug that led to the staircase in my father’s home. In the glow of lightning the dancing trees are illuminated but I see my mother in the glow of candlelight, spinning, twirling, her hair fanned out
behind her. It is falling over me, saturating my thoughts, and I cannot. I cannot let it in.”
― Gwenn Wright, The BlueStocking Girl

“She looked to Pippa. "Have I made it difficult for you?"
Pippa hedged. "Not at all. Castleton sent news to Father just last week that he was planning to court me in earnest, and it's not as though I'm the most ordinary of debutantes."
It was an understatement. Pippa was something of a bluestocking, very focused on the sciences and fascinated by the insides of living things, from plants to people. She'd once stolen a goose from the kitchens and dissected it in her bedchamber.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“You’d best pray it’s the Darkness that has driven you mad, boy, because if it’s not, you’ll pay for these bruises with some of your own!” He pinned the boy to the ground with one hand braced on a shoulder and continued, “I’m not going to hurt you. Just calm down and let’s see if we can relieve you.”

The boy relaxed, calming except for his heaving chest as he fought for air.

Robin’s mind raced through his options, coming up blank.

“Cat-mint…” the boy muttered. “Tincture of angelica. Blue chalcedony, jet, bronzite, amber—do you have any on you?”

“No,” Robin said, confused.

The boy moaned. “Trifolium, then. There’s bound to be trifolium…” The boy’s head fell back into the dirt.

“Trifolium? I don’t know…”

“Clover,” the boy ordered, scorn dripping from his voice. “I’m speaking of clover.”

Robin paced along the road looking for a clump of clover, unsure whether to laugh or snarl.

“Do you at least know your Greek sigils?” the boy muttered weakly. “The banishing sigil performed with clover…”

Greek, he thought resentfully rubbing his jaw. “I know sigils,” he said, amending silently, if I can remember the Greek ones from the schoolroom.

If he got the scamp past this spell of poisoning, he was going to thrash him. And where had he got into such Darkness in the first place?


Burroughs, Patricia. This Crumbling Pageant (The Fury Triad Book 1) (pp. 23-24). Story Spring Publishing, LLC. Kindle Edition.”
― Patricia Burroughs, This Crumbling Pageant