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She wasn't here to gawk. She was an infiltrator, a sneak, an ugly. And she had a mission.

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
Sneak
Mission
Missions
Ugly
Wasn

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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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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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You can't blame a match for a house made of straw, Alek.
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Irony is always the best weapon against fascism.
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I love you all. But it's time to say good-bye, for now. be careful with the world, or the next time we meet, it might get ugly. -Tally Youngblood
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If you see everything through hovercams and feed stories, you wind up blind to what's right in front of you.
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Most men's awareness doesn't extend past their dinner plates.
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The Internet is global and seemingly omniscient, while iPods and phones are all microscopic workings encased in plastic blobjects. Compare that to a steam engine, where you can watch the pistons move and feel the heat of its boilers. I think we miss that visceral appeal of the machine.
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Cure for writer's block: blow something up(in the story)
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So, there was this beautiful princess. She was locked in a high tower(...)She was stuck up there(...)So the only thing was to jump.
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That letter was your whole future, you daft prince. It was my past. I lost that the night my parents died. But I found you, Deryn. Maybe I wasn't meant to end the war, but I was meant to find you. I know that. You've saved me from having any reason to keep going. We save each other. That's how it works.
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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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Sooner or later usually means too late
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And over all those sleepy weeks, the dream always ended the same way, with the dragon coming for the princess saying the same words every time.... Face it, Tally-wa, you're Special.
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Plot idea: 97% of the world's scientists contrive an environmental crisis, but are exposed by a plucky band of billionaires & oil companies.
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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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Around the outskirts of the city, cut off from town by the black oval of the river, everything was in darkness. Everyone ugly was in bed by now.
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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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Gravity was something you could beat all it took was hydrogen, hot air, or even a bit of rope. But being a girl was a miserable, never-ending struggle.
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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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