Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.
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It is important to announce your intentions at top volume, she thought, or your intentions will think you are ashamed of them.
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All hands drowned, except the Red Hound of Mykenos, who bit the sea until it spit him back.
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There is no end and no beginning. There is only we two, alone in the dark, for always.
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She sounds like someone who spends a lot of time in libraries, which are the best sorts of people.
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Calpurnia squinted through her goggles and thought to herself, That is a Key. Where there is a Key, there is yet hope.
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You're grown - crooked and backbent, but grown - and it's time to stop hanging your heart on your mother.
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In both marriage and war you must cut up the things people say like a cake and eat only what you can stomach.
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Old things have strange hungers.
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Don't worry, my little lump of rock. Everybody gets a chance to choose. Or else where would irony come from?
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...For grace may only be found briefly, and always in the midst of madness.
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Breaking things heals a great many hurts. This is why children do it so often.
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Snow White swallows that like a sword. She lets the hammer click back into place. Everything in her that's not nailed down is shaking loose.
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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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When you are this hungry, you cannot even remember who you used to be, she whispered. Who you might have been, if not for the hunger.
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Falling in love is embarrassing. It is not hardcore. It is not part of the scene.
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He'll burn you down like wax if you let him. You'll think it's love, while he dines on your heart. And maybe it will be. But he's so hungry, he'll eat you all in one sitting, and you'll be in his belly, and what will you do then?
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Slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, the man in the black coat knelt before her. “I have come for the girl in the window,” he said, and his eyes filled with tears.
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War must always be done out of sight, or it shocks people and they stop immediately.
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The burnt-off connectors and shadows where Ravan once filled my spaces - those, I think, are the sensations of grief.
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Your past’s a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in a box where it can’t hurt anyone.
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Because the opposite of fascism isn't anarchy, it's theater.
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The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.
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She is dead. Almost certainly dead. Nearly conclusively dead. She is, at the very least, not answering her telephone.