Quote

It was all very well being told that she could do nothing to make things better. Neverfell did not have the kind of mind that could take that quietly. She did not have the kind of mind that could be quiet at all.

Frances Hardinge

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Frances Hardinge
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 6
Author
Writer
Kent
England
Frances Melanie Hardinge
Hon. Frances Melanie Hardinge
Things
Better
Wells
Well
Nothing
Take
Kind
Quietly
Mind
Quiet
Make
Told

More quotes by Frances Hardinge

Image
We always find it difficult to forgive our heroes for being human.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Words were dangerous when loosed. They were more powerful than cannon and more unpredictable than storms. They could turn men’s heads inside out and warp their destinies. They could pick up kingdoms and shake them until they rattled.
Frances Hardinge
Image
You, sir, are a romantic, and I'm afraid the condition is incurable. -Eponymous Clent
Frances Hardinge
Image
In Mosca’s experience, a ‘long story’ was always a short story someone did not want to tell.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Tea is the magic key to the vault where my brain is kept.
Frances Hardinge
Image
True stories seldom have endings. I don't want a happy ending, I want more story.
Frances Hardinge
Image
It was hopeless. She was flawless. She was a sunbeam. Mosca gave up and got on with hating her.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Desperation is a millstone. It wears away at the very soul, grinding away pity, kindness, humanity and courage. But sometimes it whets the mind to a sharpened point and creates moments of true brilliance. And standing there, nose tickled by the dusty hide of the stuffed deer head, such a moment visited Mosca Mye.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Brand a man as a thief and no one will ever hire him for honest labor - he will be a hardened robber within weeks. The brand does not reveal a person's nature, it shapes it.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Push something in someone’s face, and they will shove it away reflexively. Threaten to snatch it away from them, and sometimes they become convinced that it is what they want.
Frances Hardinge
Image
I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated . . .
Frances Hardinge
Image
Where is your sense of patriotism? I keep it hid away safe, along with my sense of trust, Mr. Clent. I don't use 'em much in case they get scratched.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Every time I do what you say I tumble a bit farther down this well of darkness, an' this here is a drop too deep an' too dark for me. I have to stop falling while I can still see a bit of the sky.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Sometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp.
Frances Hardinge
Image
You’re a peach full of poison, you know that? Mosca snapped back, but could not quite keep a hint of admiration from her tone.
Frances Hardinge
Image
My child, you have a flawed grasp of the nature of myth-making. I am a poet and storyteller, a creator of ballads and sagas. Pray do not confuse the exercise of the imagination with mere mendacity. I am a master of the mysteries of words, their meanings and music and mellifluous magic.
Frances Hardinge
Image
My dear fellow, he continued more soberly, If you have managed to complicate things by forming a sentimental attachment in less than a week, then I doubt there is anything I can do for you. You, sir, are a romantic, and I suspect your condition is incurable.
Frances Hardinge
Image
Ordinary life did not stop just because kings rose and fell, Mosca realized. People adapted. If the world turned upside down, everyone ran and hid in their houses, but a very short while later, if all seemed quiet, they came out again and started selling each other potatoes.
Frances Hardinge
Image
If you want someone to tell you what to think... You will never be short of people willing to do so.
Frances Hardinge
Image
My good lady,’ interrupted Clent, ‘are you telling me that he is not the Luck? That you have in some way obfuscated the chronology of his nativity?’ Seconds passed. A beetle flew into Mistress Leap’s hair while she stared at Clent, then it struggled free and flew off again. ‘Did you lie about when he was born?’ translated Mosca.
Frances Hardinge