Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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Snow White gets a Social Security card. She gets a job building houses out in California. Picks oranges.
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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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Be nice to Fairyland. She is old and tender of heart and when her feelings are hurt, she cries volcanoes.
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Being on time is a filthy habit practised only by roosters and retirees.
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She long ago learned that if she waited and blinked and behaved like a pupil, eventually someone would lecture her on something.
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I could not say what creeps and whispers through the branches and down the threaded Road, but I hear it, and I am not afraid.
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Bad luck relies absolutely on perfect timing
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In my experience, folk find it nigh on impossible to call a thing what it is.
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Perhaps all a Tsaritsa is is a beautiful cold girl in the snow, looking down at someone wretched, and not yielding.
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Sometimes I worry. Worrying is defined as obsessive examination of one’s own code.
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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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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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You’re not in love if you keep your own heart bricked up behind your bones. You’re only playing.
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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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That is the trouble with standing up to people, of course. Once you start doing it, you can hardly stop.
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After so long keeping to herself and tending her secret quietly, all these words just bubbled up out of her her like cool golden champagne.
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Rich girls aren’t criminals, don’t you know? They’re just troubled, poor things.
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And the heart of Ivan Nikolayevich broke inside the body of Marya Morevna, and the pieces of him lodged deep in her bones, and through the window, the stars watched.
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Life is like that. Death sweeps it away. That's what death is for. That's why they keep telling this story. It's the only story.
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Decibel Jones sighed and shook his head. Today was fired. Today was well and truly sacked. Today could, in point of fact, fuck all the way off.
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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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It is true that novelists are shameless and obey no decent law, and they are not to be trusted on any account, but some Mysteries even they must honor.
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She must protect herself. There would be no one to do it for her. A plan started to prick up its ears inside her, slowly, but getting stronger.
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You have to be able to see the world as a whole to bear it - to see the Queerness that moves in every bit of Fairyland, how it threads through every heart and field, how we are all bound together up in the Weird Well of the World.