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

More quotes by Catherynne M. Valente

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It appeals to the higher nature of the self to put aside food which once lived - I do not consider myself food, why should I ask all other creatures to consider themselves so?
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And as we watched, the Tsar of Death lifted up his eyelids like skirts and began to dance in the streets of Leningrad.
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I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.
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All jobs are odd, or they would be games or naps or picnics.
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Woman! Come out! I have— She looked down at the bloodless grass, embarrassed. I have come to rescue you, she finally said, as if admitting that she were covered in boils.
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The future is a messy, motley business, little girl.
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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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I am the Walker and the Maze.
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It is such hard work to keep your heart hidden! And worse, by the time you find it easy, it will be harder still to show it. It is a terrible magic in this world to ask for exactly the thing you want. Not least because to know exactly the thing you want and look it in the eye is a long, long labor.
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It is best in the end to let women see to their own vengeance.
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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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It is well known that reading quickens the growth of a heart like nothing else.
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Someone ought to write a novel about me,” said Lebedeva loftily. “I shouldn’t care if they lied to make it more interesting, as long as they were good lies, full of kisses and daring escapes and the occasional act of barbarism. I can’t abide a poor liar.
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Stories,' the green-eyed Sigrid said, unperturbed, 'are like prayers. It does not matter when you begin, or when you end, only that you bend a knee and say the words.
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In both marriage and war you must cut up the things people say like a cake and eat only what you can stomach.
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You cannot escape where you come from, September. Some part of it remains inside you always, like the slender white heart in the center of the thickest onion.
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You should always listen to minotaurs. Anybody with four stomachs has to have a firm grip on reality.
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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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All things are strange which are worth knowing.
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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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