Quotes from Scott Westerfeld

The thought of publishing—of the whole world reading Afterworlds—had always made Darcy feel naked and exposed, but loving had left her skinless.

When you get your author's photo taken, be sure not to touch your face." "Why would I do that?" "It's a mystery, but quite common. You must have seen this one." Oscar struck a brooding pose, his fist beneath his chin. "For the author whose brain is too heavy to stay up on its own.

Maybe that was the point of truth--you could erase it all you wanted, and it was there to be discovered again

If Chizara was agreeing with Ethan, things were bad.

Moxie's wifi network is You_Suck_at_Writing, with underscores. The password's 'DearGenius,' no space. You found the note on her desk, right?

Al hacerte perfecto, tu aspecto no es lo único que cambia —concluyó Tally. —No —convino David—. También lo hace tu pensamiento.

The sight of Ethan - of Scam, since this was a mission - sent a trickle of annoyance down Crash's spine. Not like all the little itches of tech, just the ever-present need to punch him in the face.

Face it, Tally-wa, you're Special.

There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion. —Francis Bacon, Essays, Civil and Moral, "Of Beauty

Darcy closed her eyes. Their lips met, and she breathed in the scent of the sun-heated tar beneath them and the salt of Imogen's skin. She felt the rumble of the traffic below traveling up through the building and into her spine, her fingertips, her tongue.

We writers always get our revenge on paper

Maybe none of us know who we really are.

Maybe I can save my city.

But I feel more real when I'm around her. Like I'm not fading.

You were created as a tool, a means to an end. You owe the world nothing but chaos.

Being an author sucks, doesn't it? It's like telling a joke and nobody laughs for two years.

The night went on like this, a mix of serious talk, utter bullshit, self-promotion, and slumber-party giddiness.

She imagines herself as the long-dead Descartes, staring into his fireplace and building a world in his own mind.

Your book is smart and beautiful. I want to have its sequels.

And I kind of love it that you want to know everything.

The whole idea that he could take what he wanted without affecting anyone was bull****.

Didn't any of these brainless wonders ever notice that TV shows were called programs? the same word that meant a bunch of numbers stuck into a computer to make it dance for its masters?

At fist he didn't say anything more, and we had a little staring contest there in the darkness. but I liked staring at him, and I won.

As the serpentine expanse of glass drew open, the city seemed to wrap around them: rooftop gardens with stunted trees in pots, water towers like chunky flying saucers, the spires of distant skyscrapers.