Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story.
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Did I not come to you on my knees with a kingdom in my hand?
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A stepmother is like a bullet you can't dig out. She fires true and she fires hot and she fires so quick that her metal hits your body before you even know there's a fight on.
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She was ... unhappy. It was part of her, you could not separate her from it. She was sad the way a horse is strong or a bird flies.
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I’ll put this in words you can understand: humans are hideous, pain-guzzling, pollution-spouting space monsters who might threaten our way of life.
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I have to do it myself. That's what a Queen does. She saves herself.
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Of late, she had felt coldness in herself, and though she feared it, she loved it too, for it made her strong.
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One doesn’t behave at all the same way to a grandfather as to a bosom friend, to a professor as to a curious niece.
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A book is a door, you know. Always and forever. A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.
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In my mind I know the name of an ocean the size of everything that was. My mouth can only call it death.
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If you have ever seen a falling star, you have seen a Changeling arriving.
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Old things have strange hungers.
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Remember this when you are queen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I moved the earth and the water for you.
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I can't stop," the shark rasped. "If I stop, I shall sink and die. That's the way I'm made. I have to keep going always, and even when I get where I'm going, I'll have to keep on. That's living.
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If the world is divided into seeing and not seeing, Marya thought, I shall always choose to see.
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Whenever one does extraordinary things, someone is bound to try to repeat them for themselves. It's the way of the world.
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Where there's a labyrinth, there's a minotaur, and vice versa! I can't imagine a decent maze that would be caught dead without a minotaur.
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That is the trouble with standing up to people, of course. Once you start doing it, you can hardly stop.
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It tasted like a shade of white near blue; it tasted like the idea of pearls; it tasted like a memory nearly grasped but lost at the last moment.
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Do you understand Christ to be more like an ox (excuse us, three oxen) or more like a door?
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Just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real.
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But in the end, all wars are more or less the same. If you dig down through the layers of caramel corn and peanuts and choking, burning death, you’ll find the prize at the bottom and the prize is a question and the question is this: Which of us are people and which of us are meat?
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You know how we can be about things which sparkle and shine. We imagine they will put back something of what has been lost.
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I know real dirt looks nothing like this. Nothing like soft blood flecked with black bone.