Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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Who knows what wild things Sleeping Beauty dreamt of while waiting to awake?
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A mother's like a poison made for only one soul.
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He had not guessed how much of the body of a Quest was simply walking.
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In his own country, Death can be kind. But of an end
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'All little girls are terrible,' he admitted finally. 'but the Marquess, at least, has a very fine hat'
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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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If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.
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He’ll never be good if he can’t choose to be nasty. It’s the choice that makes the good.
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No one says a word that has not been spoken a thousand times before, a thousand thousand times, and even the first of those was a repetition of words that came before.
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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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Things that are unsightly: birthmarks, infidelity, strangers in one's kitchen. Too much sunlight. Stitches. Missing teeth. Overlong guests.
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Bran felt terribly sorry for his sisters, but it was hardly his fault that the world was so determined to make girls suffer a great deal more than boys. He hadn’t built the world. It had nothing to do with him.
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A tale may have exactly three beginnings: one for the audience, one for the artist, and one for the poor bastard who has to live in it.
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It is such hard work to keep your heart hidden! And worse, by the time you find it easy, it will be harder still to show it.
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Music has more rules than math or magic and it's twice as dangerous as both or either.
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The nearness of him crushed her, like being held by the sun.
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Maidens stand still, they are lovely statues and all admire them. Witches do not stand still. I was neither, but better that I err on the side of witchery, witchery that unlocks towers and empties ships.
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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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It takes energy for new roads to diverge in new woods, and no energy is spent with complete efficiency, without waste. Where wood has burned, there will be ash. The waste product of the constantly dividing multiverse is a fine, drifting mist of regret, and no wormhole has ever starved.
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She’s an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris.
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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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No, love, in real life you can get all the way to death and never have finished one single story.
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The Sirens flicked their wings at the wall, inscribing it with their own blue ink: Even in penance is beauty; blessed are all the ocean’s drowned!
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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.