Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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It is harder, usually, to find a person who wants to walk the streets of me, to taste the teas of my country, to... immigrate, you could say.
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He does everything a Marshal does but twice as hard, twice as dirty, and without the soft and cushioning arms of the government to wipe his tears.
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She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.
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Temperament, you'll find, is highly dependent on time of day, weather, frequency of naps, and whether one has had enough to eat.
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Your privilege is comprised of the questions you’ve never had to ask.
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Did I not come to you on my knees with a kingdom in my hand?
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In my experience, folk find it nigh on impossible to call a thing what it is.
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War must always be done out of sight, it shocks people and they stop immediately.
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But we had young turnips and mustard greens in our befuddled stomach that day, and these things make bravery.
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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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A house is a kind of box you put a girl in.
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Shadows are where magic comes from. Your dark and dancing self, slipping behind and ahead and around, never quite looking at the sun.
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Accuracy is next to godliness.
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But I am a sly and wicked narrator. If there is a secret to be plumbed for your benefit, Dear Reader, I shall strap on a head-lamp and a pick-ax and have at it.
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A heart can learn ever so many tricks, and what sort of beast it becomes depends greatly upon whether it has been taught to sit up or to lie down, to speak or to beg, to roll over or to sound alarms, to guard or to attack, to find or to stay
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A Sibyl is a door shaped like a girl.
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All children are required to attend School, which is like a party to which everyone forgot to bring punch, or hats, or fiddles, and none of the games have good prizes.
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I chose you," he said simply. "All of the fish of me turned toward you at once.
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I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.
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The storm ate up September’s cry of despair, delighted at its mischief, as all storms are.
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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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[...] She started disappearing as soon as she was born. Just to get away from you.
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Draw the world the way you want it. Draw it and it will be.
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Folk are just folk, wherever you go, and it's only a nasty sort of person who thinks a body's a devil just because they come from another country and have different notions