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No trouble ever got fixed late at night, he said. Midnight is for regrets.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Ever
Regrets
Midnight
Fixed
Regret
Late
Trouble
Night

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Crippled things are always more beautiful. It's the flaw that brings out beauty.
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I thought you were her knight, but you have become only her woodsman--taking little girls into the forest to cut out their hearts.
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I haven't had a very good day. I think I might still be hung over and everyone's dead and my root beer's gone.
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Those who really love you don't mean to hurt you and if they do, you can't see it in their eyes but it hurts them too.
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I'm the best kind of thief, the kind that leaves behind items equal in value to those he's stolen.
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Love changes us, but we change how we love too.
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They say that nameless things change constantly—that names fix them in place like pins.
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Life is like licking Honey from a Thorn
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She can’t help it. She loves the con. I tell myself I’m not like her, but I have to admit I love it too.
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Marks forget that whenever something's too good to be true, that's because it's a con.
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Instead, it just reminded her that sometimes there were no good choices.
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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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He was as honest as any criminal can hope to be.
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This is never going to be over,” I shout. “Someone will always be after me. There’s always consequences. Well, BRING IT. I am done with being afraid, and I am done with you.
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I heard you've been having some problems with your girlfriend. Headmistress Northcutt says. No, I say. Not at all. Audrey broke up with me after the winter holiday, exhausted by my moodiness. It's impossible to have problems with a girlfriend who's no longer mine.
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He must have been handsome when he was alive and was handsome still, although made monstrous by his pallor and her awareness of what he was. His mouth looked soft, his cheekbones as sharp as blades, and his jaw curved, giving him an off-kilter beauty. His black hair a mad forest of dirty curls.
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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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He looks like the good boy he's never been.
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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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You have to write a lot. And you have to rewrite what you wrote a lot more.
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