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It's starting to sink in, Corny said. I can almost look at you without wanting to bang my head against the wall.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Wanting
Starting
Wall
Head
Almost
Bang
Look
Bangs
Without
Corny
Looks
Sink

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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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You said you were allowed to lose it,' some part of her reminded herself. 'Not yet, not yet.
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Death has his favorites, like anyone. Those who are beloved of Death will not die.
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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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I want you and I hate wanting things and I especially hate admitting I want them.
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And stupid. Brave and Stupid. Ravus smiled, but then his smile sagged. But nothing can stop you from being terrible once you've learned how.
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I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstacy, the way they open their mouths as they drown, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they trash in your hands as though with an excess of passion.
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I'm afraid that whatever I touch is spoilt by the contact. I'm not scared of being spoiled, Val said.
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It's not that I don't know that it's a bad idea. It's that, lately, bad ideas have a particular hold over me.
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Love changes us, but we change how we love too.
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Flattery will get you everywhere, Sam says, Except, apparently, off a roof.
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I don't lie, I lied.
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You can break a thing, but you cannot always guide it afterward into the shape you want.
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Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.
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Everyone danced -- sweaty bodies packed tight, drunk with sound.
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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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