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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.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Contact
Scared
Touch
Afraid
Whatever
Spoilt
Spoiled

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Flattery will get you everywhere, Sam says, Except, apparently, off a roof.
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She wears trouble like a crown. If she ever falls in love, she’ll fall like a comet, burning the sky as she goes.
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I'm not good at having friends. I mean, I can make myself useful to people. I can fit in. I get invited to parties and I can sit at any table I want in the cafeteria. But actually trusting someone when they have nothing to gain from me just doesn't make sense. All friendships are negotiations of power.
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If I'm not a murderer, asked Corny, how come I keep killing people?
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You better get over here with my car,” Grandad says. “Before I call the cops and tell them you stole it.” “Sorry,” I say contritely. Then the rest of what he said sinks in and I laugh. “Wait, did you just threaten me with calling the police? Because that I’d like to see.
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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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I want you and I hate wanting things and I especially hate admitting I want them.
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They say that nameless things change constantly—that names fix them in place like pins.
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Farewell, Father, she said. He fell back upon his chair, choking. She laughed, not with mirth or even mockery, but something that was closer to a sob. You crafted me so sharp, I cut even myself.
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Once, she made a boy come out of his house and kiss her under the streetlight. It was her first kiss. She thinks it was probably his, too. She never told him and she never, ever will.
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I like all the things that make you monstrous.
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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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in her dreams, blood tasted like fizzy strawberry soda. If you drank it too fast, you got brain freeze. When she was older, after she'd licked a cut on her finger, the taste of that became the taste in her dreams: copper and tears.
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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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Life is like licking Honey from a Thorn
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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'm afraid my voice is going to break. I am afraid she is going to hear how much this hurts.
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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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I need you to be happy. I need one of us to be happy.
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