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What did a happy ending even mean in real life, anyway? In stories you simply said, 'They lived happily ever after,' and that was it. But in real life people had to keep on living, day after day, year after year.
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
Life
Living
People
Keep
Happily
Stories
Ending
Ever
Anyway
Real
Lived
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Simply
Even
Year
Years
Happy
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so pRetty i hAd to Eat hiM
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Have a little faith in me, Volger. I have great faith, tempered with vast annoyance.
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You all say you need us. Well, maybe you do, but not to help, with the millions of bubbly new minds about to be unleashed, with all the cities coming awake at last. Together, you're more than enough to change the world without us. So from now on, David and I are here to stand in your way. You see, freedom has a way of destroying things.
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there was a beautiful princess with a prince kissing her lips only the prince was totally ugly
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I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth.
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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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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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Dude, I just watched you climb up a f*cking building!-Lace
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He and I have this... personality conflict. Namely, I think he should get a new one.
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He makes me feel like that. Like flying.
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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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I used to be a pre-industrial writer: thousands of words in a spurt and then a few days off. But as I get older, I've switched to a mode best described as 'slow and steady wins the race.' Basically, I write during the same four hours every day, after breakfast and the all-important coffee, generally in the same room and wearing the same pajamas.
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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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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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The flowers were so beautiful, so delicate and unthreatening, but they choked everything around them.
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Typographical laziness was slowly destroying our culture, according to Lexa and her pals. Inexactitude was death.
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your not alone, Tally. Don't pretend you are
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Sooner or later usually means too late
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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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