Jackaby

That the battles are usually in her head does not lessen the bravery of it. The hardest ones always are.

I have ceased concerning myself with how things look to others, Abigail Rook. I suggest you do the same. In my experience, others are generally wrong.

This world is full of dragon-slayers. What we need are a few more people who aren't too proud to listen to a few fish.

Monsters are easy, Miss Rook. They're monsters. But a monster in a suit? That's basically just a wicked man, and a wicked man is a more dangerous thing by far.

I wondered which was sadder, leaving someone to cry after you were gone, or not having anyone who would miss you in the first place

Hell of a sight. She let out a scream and just fell to pieces. Can't say I blame her. Like I said, this sort of thing is not for the female temperament." He directed that last sentiment at me, making eye contact for the first time. "I dare say you're right, sir," I conceded, meeting his gaze. "Out of curiosity, though, is there someone whose temperament you do find suited to this sort of thing? I think I would be most unnerved to meet a man who found it pleasant.

Happiness is bliss - but ignorance is anesthetic, and in the face of what's to come, that may be all we can hope for our ill-fated acquaintances.

I excused myself to go see a duck about a dress.

Maybe if you would bother reading a book once in a while instead of hurling them about every chance you get, you would have put the pieces together yourself by now

illusions, so many masks and facades. All the world’s a stage, as they say, and I seem to have the only seat in the house with a view behind the curtain.

It wasn’t that I did not believe in ghosts; it was that I believed in them in the same noncommittal way that I believed in giant squids or lucky coins or Belgium. They were things that probably existed, but I had never given any occasion to really care one way or another.

Does this smell like paprika or gunpowder to you?

Jackaby hesitated, and when he spoke, his answer had a soft earnestness to it. “Hatun sees a different world than you or I, a far more frightening one, full of far more terrible dangers, and still she chooses to be the hero whom that world needs. She has saved this town and its people from countless monsters countless times. That the battles are usually in her head does not lessen the bravery of it. The hardest battles always are.

DO NOT STARE AT THE FROG.

Don't feel too bad" I offered. "I met him face-to-face, and I missed it, too." "Yes, but no one expected you to be clever Miss Rook." "Thanks for that," I said

He's quite mad, you know. But adventure can be very appealing.

To the attention of the New Fiddleham Police Department: You've got my middle-C, and I would like it back. ... Please return Jackaby's tuning fork. He's getting even more obnoxious than usual.

I prefer to look after myself, ma’am, but thank you. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but some of us have more pressing matters to attend to than practicing our curtsies and turning foolishly sized bonnets into topiaries.

Jackaby turned to look at me. “What in heaven’s name are you doing with my copy of Historia Lycanthropis?” “I—what?” I answered eloquently. “That book. What on earth are you doing with it?” “Well, you had the stick.” His eyebrows furrowed. “This is a shillelagh. It was cut from Irish blackthorn by a leprechaun craftsman, cured in the furnace of Gofannon, and imbued with supernatural powers of protection. That”—he gestured to the book—“is a book.” “It’s heavy, though.

The most recent gentleman has proven to be far more resilient and a great deal more helpful. He remains with me in a . . . different capacity." "What capacity?" Jackaby's step faltered, and he turned his head away slightly. His mumbled reply was nearly lost to the wind. "He is temporarily waterfowl.

Come to think of it, I am already keeping correspondence with a dog, with whom, I must admit, I find myself rather smitten. Also, I'm secretly hoping Mrs. Wiggles ends up a full halibut when this is through, because that would save me a trip to the market... although if Hatun's troll keeps company with a tabby, perhaps he wouldn't much appreciate a meal that used to be a cat." Jackaby stared "I've already ruined you, haven't I?" "Looks that way." "And I suppose there's nothing to be done about it?" "Not a thing.

Saint George's legend tells of the dangers of mythical creatures and the value of man asserting dominance over them. Manu's tale, quite conversely, stresses the value of mercy, coexistence, and peaceful symbiosis. [...] Marlowe is a good man, but he only knows how to slay dragons. The world is full of dragon-slayers. What we need are a few more people who aren't too proud to listen to a fish.

I don’t exactly believe in all this… this… this occult business. I don’t believe in house spirits, or goblins, or Santa Claus!” “Well, of course not, that’s silliness. Not the spirits or goblins, of course, but the Santa nonsense.

I quickly turned my thoughts away from my mother’s overbearing prudence before I might accidentally see reason in it.

R.F. JACKABY INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES ASSISTANT WANTED -$8 PER WEEK- Must be literate and possess a keen intellect and open mind. Strong stomach preferred. Inquire at 926 Augur Lane. Do not stare at the frog.

The overall affect of the man was just a shade subtler than a sandwich board with the words BETTER THAN YOU written out in big block letters.

So she’s just a mad woman?” Jackaby hesitated, and when he spoke, his answer had a soft earnestness to it. “Hatun sees a different world than you or I, a far more frightening one, full of far more terrible dangers, and still she chooses to be the hero whom that world needs. She has saved this town and its people from countless monsters countless times. That the battles are usually in her head does not lessen the bravery of it. The hardest battles always are.

A young woman across the dock pulled her winter coat tightly around herself and ducked her chin down as the crowd of sailors passed. Her shoulders might have shaken, just a little, but she kept to her path without letting the men's boisterous laughter keep her from her course. In her I saw myself, a fellow lost girl, headstrong and headed anywhere but home.

Its a memorial, I said. What have you got in there that you could possible need at a memorial? That sort of thinking is why you, young lady, have a scar on your sternum, and why my priceless copy of of the Apotropaicon has a broken spine. I prefer preparedness to a last minute scramble, thank you.

She has saved this town and its people from countless monsters countless times. That the battles are usually in her head does not lessen the bravery of it. The hardest battles always are.