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Life is too hard, too much to handle. Nobody told me there’d be days like these. How could nobody tell me there’d be days like these? How could they let me grow up like that—happy and pink and stupid?

Karen Marie Moning

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Karen Marie Moning
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: November 1
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Cincinnati
Ohio
Life
Stupid
Like
Told
Days
Grows
Happy
Pink
Tell
Handle
Hard
Nobody
Much
Grow

More quotes by Karen Marie Moning

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Oh, for heaven's sake, she thought with droll exasperation, this certainly explains a lot. It's no wonder I haven't been able to keep my hands off the blasted man since the day I met him. He's an artifact! A Celtic one at that!
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Words are easy lies as simple as parting your lips and breathing.
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It seemed Barrons had finally gotten his cake and eaten it too.
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The power of thought is far greater than most people ever realize.
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We will K‘Vruck the world.
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Woman, you are a thousand kinds of fool.
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If I entered a tropical beach, would I end up in Nazi Germany with my highly inconvenient black hair?
Karen Marie Moning
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Dude, got eyes? I'm collecting evidence. [...] In Ziploc bags. I think they're Glad. They look impartial to me.
Karen Marie Moning
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He knows what I'm thinking. Always. We're connected. The atoms between us ferry messages back and forth.
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You are what you are. Find a way to live with it.
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There's nothing I can't live with. Only things I won't live without.
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Friends don’t build cages for each other.
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I don't know about you, but I call impromptu vomiting harm.
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There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth? -Mac
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I'd learned a thing or two. Hope strengthens. Fear kills.
Karen Marie Moning
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Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them
Karen Marie Moning
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Sometimes the small pleasures in life are the sweetest.
Karen Marie Moning
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Don't celebrate yet, Ms. Lane. Don't believe anything is dead until you've burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.
Karen Marie Moning
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I can't help but see myself in them. The Seelie are who I was before my sister died. Pink, pretty, frivolous Mac. The Unseelie are who I've become, carved by loss and despair. Black, grungy, driven Mac.
Karen Marie Moning
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Those who were so long imprisoned in ice and darkness seem to find the sunlight jarring, painful. The longer I walk around with this grief inside me, the more I understand that. It’s as if sunshine is a slap in the face that says, Look, the world’s all bright and shiny! Too bad you’re not.
Karen Marie Moning