Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Derek Landy

Quote by Derek Landy

“Sanguine: Shackles can't hold me, pretty lady. I'm immune to just about every binding spell I reckon you ever heard of, and a few more you haven't. That's what makes me special Tanith: That and your psychopathic tendencies Sanguine: Oh, they don't make me special. They just make me fun.”

Quote by Derek Landy

Work

Playing with Fire

In this gripping tale, the protagonist navigates a web of intrigue and danger, exploring themes of passion, ambition, and the fine line between love and obsession. more

Author

Derek Landy
Derek Landy

Derek Landy (born October 23, 1974) is an Irish author and screenwriter, best known for his young adult fantasy series Skulduggery Pleasant. Since the first book was published in 2007, the series has sold millions of copies worldwide and been translated into numerous languages. Landy's works are characterized by humor, action, and supernatural elements, appealing to young readers. He was born in Dublin, Ireland, and initially worked as a screenwriter before transitioning to novel writing. In addition to the Skulduggery Pleasant series, he has created other works such as The Demon Road trilogy. Landy's writing style blends dark humor with adventurous plots, making him a significant figure in children's literature. more

You May Also Like

“When you grow up as a girl, it is like there are faint chalk lines traced approximately three inches around your entire body at all times, drawn by society and often religion and family and particularly other women, who somehow feel invested in how you behave, as if your actions reflect directly on all womanhood.”

“Once upon a time I'd left Los Angeles and been swallowed down the throat of a life in which my sole loyalty was to my tongue. My belly. Myself. My mother called me selfish and so selfish I became. From nineteen to twenty-five I was a mouth, sating. For myself I made three-day braises and chose the most marbled meats, I played loose with butter and cream. My arteries were young, my life pooling before me, and I lapped, luxurious, from it. I drank, smoked, flew cheap red-eyes around Europe, I lived in thrilling shitholes, I found pills that made nights pass in a blink or expanded time to a soap bubble, floating, luminous, warm. Time seemed infinite, then. I begged famous chefs for the chance to learn from them. I entered competitions and placed in a few. I volunteered to work brunch, turn artichokes, clean the grease trap. I flung my body at all of it: the smoke and singe of the grill station, a duck's breast split open like a geode, two hundred oysters shucked in the walk-in, sex in the walk-in, drunken rides around Paris on a rickety motorcycle and no helmet, a white truffle I stole and shaved in secret over a bowl of Kraft mac n' cheese for me, just me, as my body strummed the high taut selfish song of youth. On my twenty-fifth birthday I served black-market fugu to my guests, the neurotoxin stinging sweetly on my lips as I waited to see if I would, by eating, die. At that age I believed I knew what death was: a thrill, like brushing by a friend who might become a lover.”

“Man, Rhage is playin’ with fire,” Butch said as he started to rack up the balls. “I give Fritz thirty seconds before he’s—Here he comes.” “I’m going to pretend I’m not here.” V took a swig of his Goose. “Me too.” While they got busy grabbing balls, Fritz came steaming across the foyer like a missile seeking a heat source. “Watch your ass, Hollywood, true?” V muttered as Rhage came over with a basket of popped-and-fluffy. “It’s good for him. He needs the exercise—Fritz! How are you, buddy?” -Butch, Vishous, & Rhage”