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Quote by Clive Cussler

“Picture writing, as in Egyptian hieroglyphics?" "Very similar." "What we might call an illustrated comic strip." "Only without the panels. The panels were never fully deciphered.”

Quote by Clive Cussler

Book:Inca Gold
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Inca Gold

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Author

Clive Cussler
Clive Cussler

Clive Cussler is an American novelist known for his adventure novels. His works often revolve around themes of archaeology, history, and adventure, and are well-loved by readers. more

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“Are you under surveillance?" "I was told I'd be closely watched, but I have yet to catch anyone at it." "You're not very observant. We have a car following us now." "This J2X Allard looks like a fast car. Why don't you simply speed away from them." "Speed away from them? The car following us...that's a Cadillac STS behind us. with a 300+ horsepower engine that will hurl it upwards of 260 kilometers an hour. This old Allard also has a Cadillac engine, with dual four-throat carburetors and an Iskenderian three-quarter cam." "Which means nothing to me." "I'm making a point. This was a very fast car nearly fifty years ago. It's still fast, but it won't go over 210 kilometers an hour, and that's with a tailwind. The bottom line is that he's got us outclassed in horsepower and top speed." "You must be able to do something to lose them." "There is, but I'm not sure you're going to like it.”

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“Julia looked at her watch. "Lunchtime," she announced, opening the picnic basket she had packed at the bed and breakfast. "Anybody besides me hungry?" "I'm always hungry," Giordino called out from the back of the boat. "Amazing." Pitt shook his head incredulously. "At twelve feet away, outside in a breeze with the roar of the outboard motor, he can still hear the mere mention of food." "What delicacies have you prepared?" Giordino asked Julia, having dragged himself to the cabin doorway. "Apples, granola bars, carrots, and herbal ice tea. You have your choice between hummus and avocado sandwiches. It's what I call a healthy lunch." Every man on the boat looked at each of the others with utter horror. She couldn't have received a more unpalatable reaction if she had said she was volunteering their services as diaper changers at a day care center. Out of deference to Julia none of the men said anything negative, since she went to the bother of fixing lunch. The fact that she was a woman and their mothers had raised them all as gentlemen added to the dilemma. Giordino, however, did not come from the old school. He complained vociferously. "Hummus and avocado sandwiches," he said disgustedly. "I'm going to throw myself off the boat and swim to the nearest Burger King...”

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Book:Flood Tide
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“When the Hispano-Suiza pulled alongside, Pitt walked over and introduced himself as the driver stepped from behind the wheel to recheck his hood latches. "I guess we'll be competing against each other. My name is Dirk Pitt." The driver of the Hispano, a big man with greying hair, a white beard, and blue-green eyes, stuck out a hand. "Clive Cussler." Pitt looked at him strangely. "Do we know each other?" "It's possible," replied Cussler, smiling. "Your name is familiar, but I can't place your face." "Perhaps we met at a party or a car club meet." "Perhaps.”

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Book:Dragon
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“This guy is the spitting image of Lincoln," Giordino remarked conversationally. "That IS Abraham Lincoln," came Perlmutter's subdued voice from the doorway. He slowly sank to the deck, his back against the bulkhead, like a whale settling to the seabed. His eyes were locked on the corpse in the rocking chair as if hypnotically fixed. Pitt stared at Perlmutter with concern and obvious skepticism. "For a renowned historian, you've taken a wrong turn, haven't you?" Giordino knelt beside Perlmutter and offered him a drink from a water bottle. "The heat must be getting to you, big buddy." Perlmutter waved away the water. "God oh God, I couldn't bring myself to believe it. But Lincoln's Secretary of War, Edwin McMasters Stanton, DID reveal the truth in his secret papers." "What truth?" asked Pitt, curious. He hesitated, and then his voice came almost in a whisper. "Lincoln was not shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theatre. That is him sitting in that rocking chair.”

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Book:Sahara
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