Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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I wish you the best that can be hoped for, and no worse than can be expected.
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Everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever, the beginning and the end and the denouement and the remaindering.
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We all have someone we think shines so much more than we do that we are not even a moon to their sun, but a dead little rock floating in space next to their gold and their blaze.
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Just you wait. Papa Koschei is coming, coming, coming, over the hills on his red horse and he's got bells on his boots and a ring in his poket and he knows your name, Marya Morevna.
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We must not dwell on what we were in our salad days when soup days steam now upon the table!
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How else are you supposed to deal with people who like terrible things? Hit them with a shovel till they stop, that’s how.
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How I adore you, Marya. How well I chose. Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.
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You can't blame a book for its story.
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Nobody came without their sequins roaring.
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She always gave the impression of having accidentally wandered in from a mad scientist’s conference, and felt rather desperate to get back.
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A child equals the mass of Fairyland times the speed of luck squared.
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Sell your soul and half your shoes for a glass of gin.
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When I grew a little older, and had suitors, I demanded from them rings from the bottom of the sea, or a sword from the depths of the desert, or a golden bough and a thick golden fleece, too, before I allowed even one kiss.
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Don't worry, my little lump of rock. Everybody gets a chance to choose. Or else where would irony come from?
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So a half-breed goatsnake, a Yith, and a Ghast walk into a bar.
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Monsters almost always are culture's way of working out their fears.
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Humanity lived many years and ruled the earth, sometimes wisely, sometimes well, but mostly neither.
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Death is not a checkmate…it is more like a carnival trick. You cannot win, no matter how you move your Queen.
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War is not for winning, Masha," sighed Koschei, reading the tracks of supply lines, of pincer strategies, over her shoulder. "It is for surviving.
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So you don’t love him. Why would you look for love with a man? How could a man ever understand you?
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"Don't trust metaphors," the wombat snorted. "If you let things start claiming to mean other things, there's no limit on how many things they can mean!"
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September had only had coffee once, when her Aunt Margaret had snuck her a sip while her mother wasn’t looking. It tasted bitter, but wild and strange. She rather wanted to taste it again.
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The future is a messy, motley business, little girl.
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He had not guessed how much of the body of a Quest was simply walking.