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I perceive that you have a cruel heart, my child. It lies within your breast like a smoldering blade, hissing steam at me.

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
Heart
Cruel
Like
Breasts
Perceive
Smoldering
Lies
Hissing
Child
Blade
Within
Blades
Lying
Steam
Children
Breast

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Fierce was her needle, and she wore it like a sword.
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I am the Walker and the Maze.
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I am freedom and I will eat your heart
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Love, I've never been anyone's mother I don't know how to talk to young or old. But don't stop smiling just because I flap my mouth and say something that's not dressed around the edges like a lace tablecloth. Thicken up and we'll get along fine.
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That’s what a map is, you know. Just a memory.
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Hats have power. Hats can change you into someone else.
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Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all.
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Death hath no dominion.
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But her heart was so cold that she could hold ice in her mouth and it would never melt.
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Temptation likes best those who think they have a natural immunity, for it may laugh all the harder when they succumb.
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An equation is a prophecy that always comes true.
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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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The future is a messy, motley business, little girl.
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When I saw him I thought I could curl up inside him and go to sleep and never wake up. Men are no good for that, Masha. They'll always want you working, when you're not softening their fall into bed at the end of the day.
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Koschei, Koschei,” she whispered. “What would I have been if I had never seen the birds? I am no one I am nothing. I am a blank paper on which you and your magic wrote a girl. Just the kind of girl you wanted, all hungry and hurt and needing. A machine for loving you. Nothing in me was not made by you.
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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.
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The smell of loving is a difficult one to describe, but if you think of the times when someone has held you close and made you safe, you will remember how it smells just as well as I do.
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All things are strange which are worth knowing.
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That’s what happens to friends, eventually. They leave you. It’s practically what they’re for.
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Blue is for cruel bargains green is for daring what you oughtn’t violet is for brute force. I will say to you: Coral coaxes pink insists red compels. I will say to you: You are dear to me as attar of roses. Please do not get eaten.
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