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Suddenly a pair of searchlights lanced out from the frigate. They swept across the dark expanse - bright knives slicing the night into pieces.
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
Suddenly
Frigate
Across
Slicing
Pieces
Expanse
Dark
Swept
Night
Pair
Knives
Pairs
Bright
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She couldn't disappoint the whole village. There were no wallscreens here, no newsfeeds or satellites bands, and touring soccer teams were no doubt few and far between. (...), that made stories a valuable commodity, and it probably wasn't very often that a stranger dropped in from the sky.
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Your personality - the real you inside - was the price of beauty.
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I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth.
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Shay sometimes talked in a mysterious way, like she was quoting the lyrics of some band no one else listened to.
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My name is tally youngblood and my mind is very ugly
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so pRetty i hAd to Eat hiM
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It didn't matter what you looked like. It was how you carried yourself, how you saw yourself.
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People only worry about the uncanny for about a week that's the end of their attention span. After that, suspicions turn into shtick.
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Becoming pretty doesn't just change the way you look, she said. No, David said. It changes the way you think.
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I wouldn't say design has become strictly functional. A lot of cars these days look downright comic book to me, and the info-gadgets with which late industrial people spend the most time - phones, music players, etc. - are blobjects.
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The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you’d have to feed your cat only salmon-flavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.
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You're insane! she shouted. Pretty cool, huh? No!Tally yelled. Why didn't you tell me it was broken? Shay shrugged. More fun that way? More fun? Her heart beating fast,her vision strangely clear. She was full of anger and relief and...joy. Well, kind of. But you suck!
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But you know what? It's not my behavior I'm worried about anymore. It's yours.
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He makes me feel like that. Like flying.
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But they're already singing our praises! They are Americans. They toot their horns for anything.
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Cure for writer's block: blow something up(in the story)
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She wasn't here to gawk. She was an infiltrator, a sneak, an ugly. And she had a mission.
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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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The human heart is a strange vessel. Love and hatred can exist side by side.
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He squeezed her hand. Then I'll come get you, wherever you are when it happens. We'll be okay. But what about everybody else? He stared out across the river, nodding slowly. My guess is, everybody else is in big trouble.
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