By Its Cover

Brunetti had long been of the opinion that one of the handicaps of stupidity was its inability to imagine intelligence.

She became his Ariadne, leading him through the labyrinth of books, stopping now and then to pass another one to him.

He who lives to benefit only himself confers on the world a benefit when he dies.

If you get rid of all the books, you get rid of memory,’ he said. ‘And culture, and ethics, and variety, and any argument that opposes what you choose to think,’ Paola said, as if reading from a list. Then, because he hadn’t answered, she repeated her question, ‘What are you thinking about?’ ‘Something she said. It’s as if she thinks the prettiness of books as important as the text.’ ‘To some people it is.

Brunetti wondered if his wife had just discovered why Freud had replaced Christ but did not intend to spend time discussing this possibility with her, not when he wanted more information about the Contessa.

Old books had always filled Brunetti with nostalgia for centuries in which he had not lived.

He heard a page turning beside him: Paola obviously had kept some text secreted about her person or under the cushion where she sat, left there in the event that life presented her with the necessity of spending three minutes with nothing to read.

There is nothing God does not wish to be understood and investigated by reason.’’ He

what in God’s name was the thrust of that vast expanse of displaced water doing to those stones and to the centuries-old binding that kept them in place? Suddenly the air was unbreathable as a capricious gust blew the ship’s exhaust down on them for a few seconds.

It’s more important to understand people than to forgive them.

Brunetti shrugged. They believed him to be a member of the community of scholars...'Community of Scholars," she repeated , "It would make the chickens laugh

If you work with only your body, all you'll do is work for enough to eat.

That’s probably because they said a lot of other things, as well.

Guilo, although a lawyer, never lied; at least not to his friends.

You know, Guido, at times I find it difficult to believe you do the sort of work you do. (Medical examiner's view of Commissario Guido Brunetti)