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That Shay was in possesion of hand grenades was a comforting thought showed what kind of night this had become.
Scott Westerfeld
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Scott Westerfeld
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: May 5
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Dallas
Texas
Scott David Westerfeld
Hand
Night
Hands
Thought
Shay
Become
Grenades
Kind
Grenade
Comforting
Showed
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Let me get this stright, Aya-Chan. You want me, a person who can't lie, to lie about the fact that I can't lie? -Frizz mizuno
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Your personality - the real you inside - was the price of beauty.
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Tally turned away. Five minutes was suddenly too long to stand here, eyes burning, unable to cry.
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But you weren't born expecting that kind of beauty in everyone, all the time. You just got programmed into thinking anything else is ugly.
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And here in America rival newspapermen attack each other on sight?
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Not everything made you stronger. It was possible to survive, yet still be crippled for your trouble. Sometimes it was okay to run away, to skip the test, to chicken out. Or at least to get some help.
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Irony is always the best weapon against fascism.
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What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.
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Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee. -Jonathan
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That was the whole point of being special: You existed to make sure everyone else behaved, but that didn't mean YOU had to.
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The world rests upon a turtle, which itself stands on the back of an elephant!” Alek tried not to laugh. “Then what does the elephant stand on, madam?” “Don’t try to be clever, young man.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s elephants all the way down!
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Even mocking people helped their face stats. In the reputation economy, the only real way to hurt anyone was to ignore them completely. And it was pretty hard to ignore someone who made your blood boil.
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Oh, this beast? It's...perspicacious loris. 'Perspicacious' meaning 'wise or canny'. Get stuffed, Bovril said, then giggled. And it insults people, Telsa said. How peculiar.
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With everything so perfect, reality seemed somehow fragile, as if the slightest interruption could imperil her pretty future... all of it felt as tenuous as a soap bubble, shivering and empty.
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Sometimes you can’t choose what you love.
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Sometimes, the hardest thing was doing nothing.
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He turned to face her again, his late-pretty composure crumbling. But you're... Pretty? Think again. She smiled. I'm Tally Youngbood. My mind is very ugly. And I'm taking your car.
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I used to be a pre-industrial writer: thousands of words in a spurt and then a few days off. But as I get older, I've switched to a mode best described as 'slow and steady wins the race.' Basically, I write during the same four hours every day, after breakfast and the all-important coffee, generally in the same room and wearing the same pajamas.
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And you know, these things don't last forever.' I know, Mandy. Nothing does.' That's the spirit.
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