Quotes from Patrick Ness

Oh, poor little Seth, with his poor little parents who didn't love him. You said we all want there to be more than this! Well, there's always more than this. There's always something you don't know. Maybe your parents didn't love you enough, and that sucks, yes, it does, but maybe it wasn't because you were bad. Maybe it was just because the worst thing in the world had happened to them and they weren't able to deal with it.

I do it all the time now, reaching for the silence, making the thoughts and memories go away, and most of the time it works on the outside, too.

But Jesus, people need, you know? I know that. They need things and they don't know why, they just need them.

WHAT THE EFF IS GOING ON?" I roar, but I don't say "eff", now do I? Cuz it seems the situashun calls for something a little stronger. "WHAT EFFING PLAN?

Histórias são o que há de mais selvagem - disse o monstro com um estrondo. - Histórias perseguem, mordem e caçam.

But what is a dream, Conor O'Malley? Who is to say that it is not everything else that is the dream?

Say you were standing on a hilltop with someone who had no Noise. Would it be like you were alone there? How would you share it? Would you want to? I mean, here we are, the girl and I, heading outta danger and into the unknown and there's no Noise overlapping us, nothing to tell us what the other's thinking. Is that how it's sposed to be?

If she needed him, he'd be there instantly, no questions asked, and he knew she'd do the same. She was here now. They had their bulgogi. This is what a family was. Or should be.

The Prince had fallen in love. She was only a farmer's daughter, but she was was beautiful, and also smart, as the daughters of farmers need to be, for farms are complicated businesses.

You are what you remember. You are what you hold on to.

But here, now, again, this was more than the body, or the mind, or the personality. It wasn't holy, that was a whole other mess, but it was something that could be touched only here.

Not one of them lifting a hand to save theirselves from what's coming, hoping if they're meek enough, if they're weak enough, then the monster won't eat 'em.

an act that didn't feel like penetration, but like combination

She was reading a book on his pad, he saw, her strange attraction to the written words of his people still unabated, still amazed at how anyone could pack so much of themselves into lines on a page. It was a reduction, as she saw it, when expansion seemed so much more natural. And yet here she was again, spending time decoding a language not her own.

They're just stupid berries. Woo-hoo, so scary. Oh, please, please, save me from the berries!" The monster looked at him quizzically. "How strange", it said. "The words you say tell me you are scared of the berries, but your actions seem to suggest otherwise. "You're as old as the land and you've never heard of sarcasm?" Conor asked.

If war is hard - and it is, forever and always - then after war is just as hard, in a different way.

He had loved Enzo. Loved him. And who cared if it was the love of a fifteen - and then a sixteen-year-old. Why did that make any less? They were older than those two idiots in Romeo and Juliet. Why did everyone no longer a teenager automatically dismiss any feeling you had then? Who cared if he'd grow out of it? That didn't make it any less true in those painful and euphoric days when it was happening. The truth was always now, even if you were young. Especially if you were young.

What happened in the nightmare was something no one else ever needed to know. Conor

What if, on some level, way down deep inside, right down to the very simplest, purified form of who he was, what if he was corrupted? What if there was some tiny, tiny fault in the first building blocks of who he was, and everything since that moment of life was just papering over an essential crack? And he was just a carapace built on a facade built on scaffolding and there was no real core to him, no real central worth? At all?

Is it not a shame," she says, "that we must wait until the end of the world for all boundaries to fall?

Manchee gets up from where he's curled and follows me. When I sit down, he recurls by my legs and falls asleep, farting happily and giving a doggy sigh. Simple to be a dog. I

Noise ain't truth,

Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect. His

Yo pienso así —afirmo mientras mis pensamientos van surgiendo e inmiscuyéndose con el ruido—. Creo que todo el mundo cae —asevero—, todos nosotros sin excepción. Y me parece que la cuestión no es esa. La sujeto por los hombros para asegurarme de que me está prestando atención. —Me parece que la cuestión es si somos o no capaces de levantarnos.