Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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Ragtime plinking, glasses clinking, choruses getting sung with only half the lyrics right, giggles bubbling over like a tower of champagne. It's a party, shaking down the dawn.
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I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.
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A father is nowhere near as valuable as a spoon.
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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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She had a highly developed sense of humor which in some lights looked a bit like a sense of justice.
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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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My heart yields dividends unseen; thou art my soul's annuity.
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It's a dreadful world with only your own heart to drive you.
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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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My master lit a candle in the long midwinter's past Now summer comes and all the fields are burning black and fast.
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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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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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“First Law of Heroics.” The Monaciello grinned up at a confused September. “Someone has to tell you it’s impossible, or the Quest can’t go on."
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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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Time is communal, Marya Morevna, the most purely communal of all commodities. It belongs to us all equally.
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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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Where there is a Key, there is yet hope.
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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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They leave when it’s over, exeunt, pursued by a bear with an empty porridge bowl.
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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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I am sustained by Being Necessary.
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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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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.