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She was not filled up with the sight of him, the way she had seen her sisters fill up, like silk balloons, like wineskins. Instead, he seemed to land heavily within her, like a black stone falling.
Catherynne M. Valente
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Catherynne M. Valente
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: May 5
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Cat Valente
Instead
Sisters
Land
Stone
Seen
Fill
Within
Falling
Fall
Seemed
Black
Stones
Balloons
Way
Sight
Heavily
Like
Filled
Silk
More quotes by Catherynne M. Valente
... but as has been said, September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.
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I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.
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Yes, yes, mistress, I shall go and accomplish your task. Only—I was not only sent to kill the Leucrotta. There is a maiden in a tower— At this the Witch spat, again rolling her marvelous eyes. Those revolting creatures are always getting themselves locked up. If only they would stay that way.
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Whenever one does extraordinary things, someone is bound to try to repeat them for themselves. It's the way of the world.
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September knew a number of curse words, most of which she heard the girls at school saying in the bathrooms, in hushed voices, as if the words could make things happen just by being spoken, as if they were fairy words, and had to be handled just so.
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Metamorphosis is the most profound of all acts.
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...For grace may only be found briefly, and always in the midst of madness.
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The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.
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And if they thought her aimless, if they thought her a bit mad, let them. It meant they left her alone. Marya was not aimless, anyway. She was thinking.
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Death stands behind every bride, every groom.
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She is so stubborn, her heart has an argument with her head every time it wants to beat.
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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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The man who knelt before her would have sprung from her needles, even down the ghostly flecks of silver in his hair. She had not known before that she wanted all these things, that she preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that she wishes for tallness, or that a man kneeling might thrill her.
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Why should he be spared?' 'Someone ought to be.' And it will not be me. I have survived, but I have not been spared.
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Even if you’ve taken off every stitch of clothing, you still have your secrets, your history, your true name. It’s hard to be really naked. You have to work hard at it. Just getting into a bath isn’t being naked, not really. It’s just showing skin.
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I know you loved both he and I, the way a mother can love two sons. And no one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.
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We all live inside the terrible engine of authority, and it grinds and shrieks and burns so that no one will say: lines on maps are silly.
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Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.
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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.
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Men die. It's practically what they're for.
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