Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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It’s in our blood - we heard their distresses like a rung bell in our bones.
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The smell of loving is a difficult one to describe, but if you think of the times when someone has held you close and made you safe, you will remember how it smells just as well as I do.
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That’s the only way to look at things, I always say,” propounded the Duke. “Slantways, sideways, and upside down.”
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It's a law, a law of the universe. Like gravity or stupidity or how a minor chord always sounds sad.
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Because the opposite of fascism isn't anarchy, it's theater. When the world is fucked, you go to the theater, you go to the shine, and when the bad men come, all there is left to do is sing them down.
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She had a highly developed sense of humor which in some lights looked a bit like a sense of justice.
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Tamburlaine's house seemed more a place where books kept their people than where people kept their books.
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Where there is a Key, there is yet hope.
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He considers it for a moment and spits out the seeds, which sprout, quickly, into tiny junk blossoms sizzling with recursive algorithms. The algorithms wriggle through thorny vines, veins of clotted pink juice.
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Do you know what a thirteen-year-old girl can do when she is alone and frightened and believes she is right?
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The day of the worst thing in the world was long and hot and bright, packed so full of summer autumn seeped out through the stitches.
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If enough lost things band together, even in the darkest depths, they aren’t really lost at all anymore.
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Let us say I am something like a witch, and something like a jester, and something like a mother.
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I don't know why you would even bring up the Internet. The xeno-intelligence officer responsible for evaluating your digital communication required invasive emergency therapy after an hour's exposure.
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Dreams keep the heart alive.
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I look at you, Masha, and it is like drinking cold water. I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.
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A house, a carriage, a balloon, a ship, a racing stallionocerosupine! Is that a thing? It sounds like it ought to be, so let’s say it is!
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Children are natural practitioners of the Queer and the Questing, for childhood is nothing but a quest through a queer country. Of course, they often have a good deal of trouble with the Quiet.
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We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive. This is Russia and it is 1952. What else would you call hell?
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Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all.
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It's a dreadful world with only your own heart to drive you.
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Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.
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I am sustained by Being Necessary.
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Time is communal, Marya Morevna, the most purely communal of all commodities. It belongs to us all equally.