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Her father’s shadow looked sadly down at her. “You can never forget what you do in a war, September my love. No one can. You won’t forget your war either.

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
Looked
Either
Forget
War
Father
Never
Sadly
Love
September
Shadow

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Funny how question contains the word quest inside it, as though any small question asked is a journey through briars.
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Someone ought to write a novel about me.
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Do not ruin today with mourning tomorrow.
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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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In his own country, Death can be kind.
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So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true.
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She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.
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That’s what a map is, you know. Just a memory.
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Your past's a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in xbox where it can't hurt anyone.
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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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The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.
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I wonder sometimes what the memory of God looks like. Is it a palace of infinite rooms, a chest of many jeweled objects, a long, lonely landscape where each tree recalls an eon, each pebble the life of a man? Where do I live, in the memory of God?
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It is best in the end to let women see to their own vengeance.
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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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We all just keep moving, September. We keep moving until we stop.
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Slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, the man in the black coat knelt before her. ”I have come for the girl in the window,” he said, and his eyes filled with tears
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Husbands lie, Masha. I should know I've eaten my share. That's lesson one. Lesson number two: among the topics about which a husband is most likely to lie are money, drink, black eyes, political affiliation, and women who squatted on his lap before and after your sweet self.
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...her cry is a hook and it catches me in the throat.
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Death stands behind every bride, every groom.
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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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