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But you know what? It's not my behavior I'm worried about anymore. It's yours.
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
Worried
Anymore
Behavior
More quotes by Scott Westerfeld
I kissed him once, she whispered. Well done. What did he do? Um... Deryn sighed. He woke up.
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The human heart is a strange vessel. Love and hatred can exist side by side.
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There was a species of middle pretty who smiled at everything: happy smile, disappointed smile, you're-in-trouble smile.
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I like my first lines short and declarative. No complicated sentences. Of course, that's not really a Scott thing. It's pretty classic grab-the-reader technique.
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Left alone, human beings are a plague. They multiply relentlessly, consuming every resource, destroying everything they touch.
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The world needed more fireworks- especially now that there was going to be a shortage of beautiful, useless things.
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Come on, it's almost midnight. Let's go watch them cut the cake.
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the parties are no fun until everyone gets drunk
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The lie took form as she spoke, pulling on as many strands of truth as it could reach.
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You look beautiful - David
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But they're already singing our praises! They are Americans. They toot their horns for anything.
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He makes me feel like that. Like flying.
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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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Apparently textbooks were an endangered species here in Bixby, Oklahoma.
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In a world of extreme beauty, anyone normal is ugly.
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Once we turn, it’s new pretty, middle pretty, late pretty.” Shay dropped her arms, and her board stopped drifting. “Then dead pretty.
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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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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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Suddenly a pair of searchlights lanced out from the frigate. They swept across the dark expanse - bright knives slicing the night into pieces.
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Their reasons don't mean anything unless I have a choice.
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