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After that, she wasn't sure what the game was or if she'd imagined it. All she knew was that she had lost.

Holly Black

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Holly Black
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
New Jersey
United States
Wasn
Game
Knew
Sure
Games
Lost
Imagined

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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.
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Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks.
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Flattery will get you everywhere, Sam says, Except, apparently, off a roof.
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Some promises aren’t worth keeping.
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Life is like licking Honey from a Thorn
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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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A second book that makes you rethink the first book is the Holy Grail of a series.
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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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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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You can break a thing, but you cannot always guide it afterward into the shape you want.
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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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I thought you needed to be tougher. But I've been thinking that protecting somebody by hurting them before someone else gets the chance isn't the kind of protecting that anybody wants.
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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 hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.
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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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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 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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I need your help, says the tiny figure. Her voice is sad and soft and sounds like Lila's, but with an odd accent that might just be how cats sound when they talk.
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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.
Holly Black