Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.
No one is now what they were before the war. There’s just no getting any of it back.
But her heart was so cold that she could hold ice in her mouth and it would never melt.
She is so stubborn, her heart has an argument with her head every time it wants to beat.
The storm ate up September’s cry of despair, delighted at its mischief, as all storms are.
When the world changes, it stashes us away where we can't make it run the other way again.
You can never know how your clock runs. But it does run - and always faster than you think.
We like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.
Fantasy is my heart and love. And I just want to play in that garden for the rest of my life.
I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.
That’s what happens to friends, eventually. They leave you. It’s practically what they’re for.
I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.
But if you must be clever, then be clever. Be brave. Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.
You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.
You're not in love if you keep your own heart bricked up behind your bones. You're only playing.
No matter what you write, you actually can't help retelling a fairy tale somewhere along the way.
Don’t worry,” Marya whispered, kissing his forehead. “My old bones will follow yours soon enough.
She sounds like someone who spends a lot of time in libraries, which are the best sorts of people.
Remember this when you are queen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I moved the earth and the water for you.
Humanity lived many years and ruled the earth, sometimes wisely, sometimes well, but mostly neither.
You should always listen to minotaurs. Anybody with four stomachs has to have a firm grip on reality.
Your past's a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in xbox where it can't hurt anyone.
I've always had enough, even if my enough and your enough are as different as an elephant and a minaret.
Tell it fast before you get scared and silence yourself. You'll never wish you'd held back a little more.
It's Latin, which is an excellent language for mischief-making, which is why governments are so fond of it.
Vampires should be pretty much like mean girls, all the time, only amazing at it. Flawless. They've had time.
Death is not a checkmate…it is more like a carnival trick. You cannot win, no matter how you move your Queen.
In both marriage and war you must cut up the things people say like a cake and eat only what you can stomach.
A library is never complete. That’s the joy of it. We are always seeking one more book to add to our collection.
Marya pinned out her childhood like a butterfly. She considered it the way a mathematician considers an equation.
You look like a winter night", he had told her when he had given it to her. "I could sleep inside the cold of you".
Perhaps all a Tsaritsa is is a beautiful cold girl in the snow, looking down at someone wretched, and not yielding.
He tried to reconstruct the story in his mind, but it kept getting confused, bleeding into itself like watercolors.
Why should he be spared?' 'Someone ought to be.' And it will not be me. I have survived, but I have not been spared.
Temptation likes best those who think they have a natural immunity, for it may laugh all the harder when they succumb.
And as we watched, the Tsar of Death lifted up his eyelids like skirts and began to dance in the streets of Leningrad.
A book is a door, you know. Always and forever. A book is a door into another place and another heart and another world.
This is what comes of having a heart, even a very small and young one. It causes no end of trouble, and that’s the truth.
Funny how "question" contains the word "quest" inside it, as though any small question asked is a journey through briars.
Whenever one does extraordinary things, someone is bound to try to repeat them for themselves. It's the way of the world.
I perceive that you have a cruel heart, my child. It lies within your breast like a smoldering blade, hissing steam at me.
You know how we can be about things which sparkle and shine. We imagine they will put back something of what has been lost.
Respect me. Be proud, and if you love me, a little afraid, because love so often looks like fear. We are alike. We are alike.
You are going to break your promise. I understand. And I hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that I will not hate you.
Monsters almost always are culture's way of working out their fears and are thus inherently incredibly interesting and powerful.
Temperament, you'll find, is highly dependent on time of day, weather, frequency of naps, and whether one has had enough to eat.
Every morning is a battle between the superego and the id, and I am a mere foot soldier with mud and a snooze button on her shield.
Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.
She felt as she often did in class when she was nearly sure she had the right answer, but could not always make herself raise her hand.
But lost children always find each other, in the dark, in the cold. It is as though they are magnetized, and can only attract their like.