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It's just the way things are. she shrugged. It's no one's fault. Or everyone's.
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
Everyone
Way
Things
Shrugged
Fault
Faults
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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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Good books make you ask questions. Bad readers want everything answered.
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I go where the lizards tell me.
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But they're already singing our praises! They are Americans. They toot their horns for anything.
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Irony is always the best weapon against fascism.
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Your personality - the real you inside - was the price of beauty.
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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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It's just been a long week, that's all. It's monday night, Jess. My point exactly.
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Maybe she still was a pretty-head, making up irrational stories about the empty forest. The longer she stayed alone out here, the more Tally understood why the Rusties and their predecessors had believed in invisible beings, praying to placate spirits as they trashed the natural world around them.
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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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Having a brain hurt so much sometimes.
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You can't blame a match for a house made of straw, Alek.
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And it was pretty clear that no prince was showing up, or at least that he was really late.
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