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My head is pounding. I wish the mints were aspirin.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Mint
Head
Wish
Mints
Pounding
Aspirin

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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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Death has his favorites, like anyone. Those who are beloved of Death will not die.
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I got bored, he says. Besides, you know what's creepier than walking around your dead brothers' apartment? Sitting alone in a hearse in front of his apartment.
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I want you and I hate wanting things and I especially hate admitting I want them.
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It feels like the whole world has turned upside down. There aren't any more rules. Hey,' I say to Sam, because if the world's gone crazy, then I guess I can do whatever I want. Guess what? I'm a worker.
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A second book that makes you rethink the first book is the Holy Grail of a series.
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You don't have to protect these people, Cassel. I am these people.
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I'm afraid my voice is going to break. I am afraid she is going to hear how much this hurts.
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Allow me to explain how my whole life has prepared me for this moment. I am used to girls screaming, and your screams – will be sweeter than another’s cries of love.
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I need you to be happy. I need one of us to be happy.
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He was saying that the end of the world wasn't an accident it was a joke.
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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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I’m Lila, and yes, he’s crazy. But you must have noticed that before now. He was crazy back when I knew him, and he’s obviously gotten crazier over time.
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Every plan is a house of cards.
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She sat in the dew-damp grass and ripped up clumps of it, tossing them in the air and feeling vaguely guilty about it. Some gnome ought to pop out of the tree and scold her for torturing the lawn.
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Keep going' she told herself, 'Don't look back.' But she looked anyways.
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Pet the cat dude, says Sam. She brought you a present. She wants you to tell her how badass she is. You are a tiny tiny killing machine. Daneca coos. What's she doing? I ask. Purring! says Daneca. She sounds delighted. Good kitty. Who's an amazing killing machine? That's right. You are! You are a brutal brutal tiny lion! Yes, y
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It's okay, he informs me. Your grandfather is teaching me how to play poker. If I know Grandad, that means what he'll really be teaching Sam is how to cheat.
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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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Memory is slippery. It bends to our understanding of the world, twists to accommodate our prejudices. It is unreliable. Witnesses seldom remember the same things. They identify the wrong people. They give us the details of events that never happened. Memory is slippery, but my memories suddenly feel slipperier.
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