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“Secrets are like scars. The cut may no longer be there, but the scar’s white line tells a story. Unless you share it, it’s like you’re hiding a part of yourself the whole world can already see. They may not know the how or the why, but they see it just the same.”
― Robin M. King, Van Gogh Gone

“No one should have to . . . you shouldn’t have to . . . there are some things that are better left forgotten.â€�
His words soothed me. Somehow he saw past the novelty of what I could do, and comprehended the anguish that could be associated with perfect recall—remembering every embarrassment, harsh word, traumatic experience.
“You don’t always have to act so tough all the time. I’m here.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“Before a secret is told, one can feel the weight of it in the atmosphere.”
― Robin M. King, Van Gogh Gone

“William’s head tilted and the fluorescent lights above us reflected in his eyes, making them glow like translucent sapphires. “I wasn’t sure I had anything here in Providence drawing me back.â€� He studied my face and then smiled that schoolboy grin from all my memories. “But I don’t think Providence has seen the last of me yet.”
― Robin M. King, Memory of Monet

“I didn’t realize this building had a basement,â€� I said.
“Basement might be a bit of an understatement.â€� He grinned over his shoulder. When I responded with a raised eyebrow, he said, “You’ll see.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“I know this place, what we do, might seem a little . . .â€�
“Intriguing, adventuresome, dangerous,� I interjected, excitement pulsing through me.
“I was going to say overwhelming, but I can see Golkov might be right about you.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“The idea of beating him was very enticing. There was something about his self-assurance and cockiness that made me want to see him flat on his back.”
― Robin M. King

“I wasn’t the violin out of tune anymore. It was like he suddenly came to the piano and played the A so I could tune my string. It felt so right to be next to him, so comfortable. My rapid-beating heart began to slow, and I let my exhausted body lean closer to him. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He stroked the side of my face until, at last, my mind and body gave up the fight of the last two days and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin.â€�
“André Berthiaume,� I said.
“What?� he asked.
“The French writer who said that.�
Mr. Daly smiled and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by now that you’ve read that somewhere. What he meant is that being an operative is a mask we wear, a job we do. It’s not exactly who we are, but it’s always a part of us too. If I stopped being a handler tomorrow, some piece of me would always be on a mission.�
I thought about that for a minute. “So what you’re saying is now that I’m an operative, there’s no turning back?�
“No.â€� He sat up straight and leaned closer to the railing. His voice came out with a quiet intensity. “What I’m saying is that it was already a part of you before you even got here.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“I stepped closer and studied the oil on canvas. The scene displayed ocean waves tossing a fisherman’s ship to and fro, a crewmember frantically pulling on the sail while twelve other petrified fishermen held onto the ship’s mast or ropes. The boat’s captain remained calm. Only one fisher’s eyes stared unafraid straight at me—the one that resembled the painter himself, like he knew the ending of the story before I did.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt

“I almost laughed when I realized I was more terrified about seeing William than I had been in the burning warehouse or hanging from the ledge, or having the gun barrel pointed in my direction. There really had to be something wrong with me.”
― Robin M. King, Remembrandt