Patrick Ness Quotes
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Flakes of white fall thru the trees and onto the road, catching on our clothes and hair. It's a silent fall and it's weird how it makes everything else seem quiet, too, like it's trying to tell you a secret, a terrible, terrible secret.
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Noise ain't Truth, Noise is what men want to be true, and there's a difference twixt those two things so big that it could ruddy well kill you if you don't watch out.
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Teenagers are the greatest readers in the world - honest, unsnobby and loyal.
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And here was a man who lived on belief, but who sacrificed it at the first challenge, right when he needed it most.
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So we forgive each other?" The crooked smile climbs up one more time. "Again?" And I look right into his eyes, right into him as far as I can see, because I want him to hear me, I want him to hear me with everything I mean and feel and say. "Always," I say to him. "Every time.
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But a knife ain't just a thing, is it? It's a choice, it's something you do. A knife says yes or no, cut or not, die or don't. A knife takes a decision out of your hand and puts it in the world and it never goes back again.
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It's not how we fall. It's how we get back up again.
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Knowledge is dangerous.
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There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.
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There's so much wonder in the world. Don't let no one tell you otherwise.
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Don't deceive me. Never leave me.
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Know yourself and go in swinging, if it hurts when you hit, it might be real, too.
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... a good idea always attracts other good ideas.
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Nobody has to tell nobody nothing,” I say, taking another step forward. “You never were a poet, were you, Todd?” he says.
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This is how we are protecting you, by getting you out.
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We just keep on having to save each other", he says. "We ever gonna be even?" "I hope not," I say.
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And too much information can drive a man mad. Too much information becomes just Noise. And it never, never stops.
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Didn't you finish your chemistry in school?" "You closed the school and burnt all the books." "Ah, so I did.
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I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak...
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Stories don’t end with the writers, however many started the race.
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I just stand there like a doofus wondering just what in the effing blazes is going on.
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I was a hugely unchaperoned reader, and I would wander into my local public library and there sat the world, waiting for me to look at it, to find out about it, to discover who I might be inside it.
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Doing what's right should be easy. It shouldn't be just another big mess like everything else.
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Then at the top of the hill, the road forks. Which just figures. "You gotta be kidding." I say. One part of the road goes left, the other goes right. (Well, it's a "Fork" ain't it?)