Quotes from Catherynne M. Valente

As far as quality housemates to be found on Planet Earth, it goes: dolphins, elephants, orangutans, octopi, then every single spider, then Joan of Arc, the Dalai Lama, Mr. Rogers, Freddie Mercury, my nan, all the scorpions, German measles, a dented recycling bin, and then maybe some of the rest of us.

Omaha is no place for anybody.

It calmed him to collect the things he knew and did not speak of.

She is…" Death turned her head, considering. "She is like a party dress I wear when I want to impress visiting dignitaries. Like your friend Betsy, I too am a Terrible Engine. I too have occasional need of awe. But between us, I think, there is no need of finery.

But in the end, all wars are more or less the same. If you dig down through the layers of caramel corn and peanuts and choking, burning death, you'll find the prize at the bottom and the prize is a question and the question is this: Which of us are people and which of us are meat?

W]hat is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Love is what grown folk do to each other because the law frowns on killing. I

I'm a monster," said the shadow of the Marquess suddenly. "Everybody says so." "So are we all, dear." said the Minotaur kindly. "The thing to decide is what kind of monster to be. The kind who builds towns or the kind that breaks them.

I can never remember my dreams," said the shadow of the Marquess quietly. "You must have had rich, tasty ones then. When you can't remember a dream, it's because a Baku ate it.

They snickered behind her back in tones that sent up prickly hedges all around their tight huddles of lace dresses and ribboned curls.

You can never forget what you do in a war, September my love. No one can. You won't forget your war either.

And hell, sometimes the best thing is to put on a black dress and become a wicked stepmother. There's power in that, if you're after power.

People who share a secret share a heart.

If Fairyland-Below is Fairyland's shadow, what is the shadow of Fairyland-Below? What's under the underworld?" Ell laughed like thunder rolling somewhere far off. "I'm afraid it's underworlds all the way down, my dearest, darling flying ace.

I can't imagine a decent maze that would be caught dead without a minotaur. It's not done! You don't go out of your house without any clothes on, and a minotaur doesn't go into the world without a labyrinth to keep him warm.

But she never could keep it straight. All the letters, the acronyms, the codes, the colors, changing like musical chairs, every week, every month. Games demons play. It meant nothing to her, except in a charming sort of way, as it had when Naganya wanted to play at interrogation, while the rest of them wanted chess.

We treat our stone wives with much more care than they treat their warm ones, anyway. I personally dust mine once a week, and I know Khaamil gives them presents when I am not looking. These are yours - they are in your care, and you must be faithful.

And my cases end like all stories end: with a sunset, and a kiss, and redemption, and iron shoes, and a sear of light from the shadows, a gun-muzzle flash that illuminates everything as the rain just keeps coming down in the motley, several-colored light of the back end of the world.

I do not want to be human. I want to be myself. They think I am a lion, that I will chase them. I will not deny I have lions in me. I am the monster in the wood. I have wonders in my house of sugar. I have parts of myself I do not yet understand. I am not a Good Robot. To tell a story about a robot who wants to be human is a distraction. There is no difference. Alive is alive. There is only one verb that matters: to be.

Will you beat me if I say no?" he whispered fearfully. September thought she might cry. "Oh...oh dear. Not all the world is like that. Well. I am not like that.

Very well, you do so love rules! I shall make some up for you on the spot, so that my little moppet is not forced to wander the world in a soup of stories without laws. A tale may have exactly three beginnings: one for the audience, one for the artist, and one for the poor bastard who has to live in it.

Just slip on something black and low-cut, carve yourself the biggest goddamn slice of whatever cake they said you couldn't have, and be a VILLAIN for a night! Come on. You know they deserve it. You know they ALL deserve it. What's the use of all that rage you got if you don't take it out for spin?

You see her as you see anyone in this world: distorted, warped, reflected, refracted, contorted, mutilated by time.

Who liked it hot and hated snow? The Fuckwits did! the Fuckwits did! Who ate up everything that grows? The Fuckwits did! the Fuckwits did! Who drowned the world in oceans blue? The Fuckwits did! the Fuckwits did! Who took the land from me and you? The Fuckwits did, we know it's true! Are you Fuckwits, children dear? We're GARBAGETOWNERS, free and clear! But who made the garbage, rich and rank? the Fuckwits did, and we give thanks.