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We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That's why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Remember
Habits
Hard
Expect
Trying
Harder
Think
Habit
Thinking
Honest
Break
Tell
Largely
Truth
Liars

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Tana. In all my long life, though there were many times I prayed for it, no one has ever saved me. No one but you.
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A girl like that, Grandad said, perfumes herself with ozone and metal filings.
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We’re all dying, Cassel. It’s just that some of us are dying faster than others.
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He runs to the sink to spit it out. I grin. There’s nothing quite as funny as someone else’s misery.
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Mutually assured destruction.
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He was as honest as any criminal can hope to be.
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She'd always been a little contemptuous of beauty, as though it was something you had to trade away some other vital thing for.
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Love changes us, but we change how we love too.
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She wants me to take out Patton.” Barron’s brows draw together. “Take out? As in transform him?” “No,” I say. “As in take out to dinner. She thinks we’d make a good couple.
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She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.
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Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.
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Can't get away from your own self.
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The more powerful you become, the more others will find ways to master you. They'll do it through those you love and those you hate. They will find the bit and the bridle that fits your mouth and will make you yield.
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Philip Sharpe was a soldier in God's army, says the minister. Now he marches with the angels.
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She was the epic crush of my childhood. She was the tragedy that made me look inside myself and see my corrupt heart. She was my sin and my salvation, come back from the grave to change me forever. Again. Back then, when she sat on my bed and told me she loved me, I wanted her as much as I have ever wanted anything.
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They say that nameless things change constantly—that names fix them in place like pins.
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You have to write a lot. And you have to rewrite what you wrote a lot more.
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The truth is messy. It's raw and uncomfortable. You can't blame people for preferring lies.
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The first boy I fell in love with didn't know I loved him, but he managed to break my heart anyway.
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It’s just that you go so crazy being alone like that. Sometimes he’d forget my water or food and I’d cry and cry and cry.” She stops talking and looks out the window. “I would try to tell myself stories to pass the time. Fairy tales. Parts of books. But they got used up.
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