Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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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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Did everything that had magic have teeth?
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I have not been in Fairyland nearly long enough to start crying, September thought, then bit her tongue savagely.
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What happens to the West happens to Snow White, which is to say they both turn into jokes.
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I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.
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A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.
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All tamed things are made a bit ridiculous in the process, you know.
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He's not a lad that likes to stand on his feet.
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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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Perhaps memory is a thing that everyone involved has to work at, like stitching up a big quilt out of everything that ever happened to you.
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She is dead. Almost certainly dead. Nearly conclusively dead. She is, at the very least, not answering her telephone.
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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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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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All the rest of the nonsense a story requires is just a long seduction of the ending.
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Oh, aren't you just the rottenest wet blanket whoever spoiled a sport.
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Rules are for those who can't think of a better way.
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Did I not come to you on my knees with a kingdom in my hand?
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Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.
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That's your first hint that something's alive. It says no.
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"You look like a winter night", he had told her when he had given it to her. "I could sleep inside the cold of you".
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Everything in the world, it turns out, is escapable except economy.
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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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I have all the books I could need, and what more could I need than books?
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In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you