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I feel like sometimes my best friend is not my best friend but my mortal enemy

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
Enemy
Best
Feel
Sometimes
Feels
Like
Mortal
Mortals
Friend

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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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She carried a knife inside of herself now, one that was always cutting her. She could feel it every time she swallowed, every time her thoughts strayed from the splendor of the wild.
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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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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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Turns out if you never lie, there's always someone mad at you.
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Most men's awareness doesn't extend past their dinner plates.
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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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That was one problem with dramatic exits: Sometimes they wound up making you look like a bubblehead.
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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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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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I love my virginity to the apocalypse.
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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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She thought of the orchids spreading across the plains below, choking the life out of other plants, out of the soil itself, selfish and unstoppable. Tally Youngblood was a weed. And, unlike the orchids, she wasn't even a pretty one.
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That Shay was in possesion of hand grenades was a comforting thought showed what kind of night this had become.
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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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It's amazing how quickly nature consumes human places after we turn our backs on them. Life is a hungry thing.
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Didn't this beat everything? A pretty and an ugly taking a stroll together. The warden came closer, confusion all over his middle-pretty face. Tally smiled. At least she was causing trouble to the end. I'm Tally Youngblood, she said. Make me pretty.
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Sometimes, the hardest thing was doing nothing.
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Did you really think I was too fragile to know what Deryn was? Fragile? Volger looked about. I hadn't thought so, but now I find you brooding in a bathroom. This doesn't speak well of your sturdiness.
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Let others wage war. You, lucky Austria, shall marry.
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