Scott Westerfeld Quotes
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Making ourselves feel ugly is not fun." "We are ugly.
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it's not called the Rusty Ruins because some guy called Rusty found them.
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Maybe they didn't want you to realize that every civilization has its weakness. There's always one thing we depend on. And if someone takes it away all that's left is some story in a history class.
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Maybe that was the price of loving someone: You lost your grasp of where they ended and you began.
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We're not freaks, Tally. We're normal. We may not be gorgeous, but at least we're not hyped-up Barbie dolls.
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Apparently textbooks were an endangered species here in Bixby, Oklahoma.
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A rat called Possible New Strain was sitting under a spaghetti strainer held down with a pile of journalism textbooks, saying rude things in rat-speak.
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The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you’d have to feed your cat only salmon-flavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.
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Suddenly a pair of searchlights lanced out from the frigate. They swept across the dark expanse - bright knives slicing the night into pieces.
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History would indicate that the majority of people have always been sheep.
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As a bio major, I figured "free will" meant chemicals in your brain telling you what to do, the molecules bouncing around in a way that felt like choosing but was actually the dance of little gears--neurons and hormones bubbling up into decisions like clockwork. You don't use your body; it uses you.
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I'd watched too many schoolmates graduate into mental institutions, into group homes and jails, and I knew that locking people up was paranormal - against normal, not beside it. Locks didn't cure; they strangled.
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Good books make you ask questions. Bad readers want everything answered.
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She couldn't disappoint the whole village. There were no wallscreens here, no newsfeeds or satellites bands, and touring soccer teams were no doubt few and far between. (...), that made stories a valuable commodity, and it probably wasn't very often that a stranger dropped in from the sky.
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Ring around the rosie. A pocket full of posie. Ashes ashes, we all fall down. Some people say that this poem is about the Black Death, the fourteenth-century plague that killed 100-million people... Sadly, though, most experts think this is nonsense... How can I be so sure about this rhyme when all the experts disagree? Because I ate the kid who made it up.
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But you know what? It's not my behavior I'm worried about anymore. It's yours.
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Sooner or later usually means too late
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Your personality - the real you inside - was the price of beauty.
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Around the outskirts of the city, cut off from town by the black oval of the river, everything was in darkness. Everyone ugly was in bed by now.
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And the worst thing was, there were no mirrors out there in the wild, so the princess was left wondering whether she in fact was still beautiful... or if the fall had changed the story completely.
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Left alone, human beings are a plague. They multiply relentlessly, consuming every resource, destroying everything they touch.
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Sometimes it felt like her life was a series of falls from ever-greater heights.
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Wow," came a familiar voice, "Hypochondriac killed the cat." -Dess
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The flowers were so beautiful, so delicate and unthreatening, but they choked everything around them.