Catherynne M. Valente Quotes
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Sell your soul and half your shoes for a glass of gin.
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The ghosts will eat everything because the bellies of ghosts want the whole world, just to fill one tiny corner.
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You know how questing goes. You can’t explain it to anyone else; it would be like telling them your dreams.
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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
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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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Mary's smile is a spotlight - whomever it lands upon becomes brighter, becomes more real. It lands upon us.
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Never trust anyone under one hundred!
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But if you must be clever, then be clever. Be brave. Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.
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Draw the world the way you want it. Draw it and it will be.
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And that is the last lesson of childhood: You spend all your years fighting against the injustice of big folk and their big rules until you are ready to rule yourself.
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Marya pinned out her childhood like a butterfly. She considered it the way a mathematician considers an equation.
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Will Hilt to hand yet be restored? Take me up, thy mother's sword.
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She was a vengeful goddess and her will was absolute.
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How poor you are, September. You make my heart groan. I know about Homesickness. It begins with H. What will you do?
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It's like Goguenar's Fourth General Unkillable Fact says: Everyone's always saying love is the element that binds the universe together, but that's a load of bollocks; It's convenience.
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On the other side of the jelly-glass docking hatch they could see, improbably, impossibly, a hyperactive red panda jumping up and down and waving his paws at them.
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The colours of the glass throw blue and green onto her wet cheeks. The sea wind picks up her hair violet electrics snap and sparkle between the strands.
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Doors opened at seven, the show started at eight. In pubs and clubs and house parties across the galaxy, the viewers at home were drunk by six.
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The future is a messy, motley business, little girl.
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Wife sounded like something exciting, something daring, something a bit scoundrelly, like pirate or bandit. And they were bandits, of course.
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Perhaps all a Tsaritsa is is a beautiful cold girl in the snow, looking down at someone wretched, and not yielding.
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A clever person is never bored, and a bored person is never clever.
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Old things have strange hungers.
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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.