Quotes from Frances Hardinge

Silence itself could be used as deftly and cruelly as a kire

Children are little priests of their parents, watching their every gesture and expression for signs of their divine will.

She could find no purchase on the older woman's marble-smooth countenance. There were no cracks to give her a view into her soul.

We're in a nest of secrets here. Don't let down your guard.

She is the key to this mystery, a key that I will turn, by hook or by crook.

Lies can be wrung out of a witness as easily as truth. Yes, after a few hours with the Enquiry's . . . instruments, I am sure she will be willing to swear that she had swallowed an antidote, or indeed that she had flown to the moon if that would make the pain stop. But, here and now, you can see she is telling the truth. There was no betrayal. There was no poison. There was no murder.

What would have happened if Caverna had been torn by a civil war, the two opposed leaders housed in a single body?

Even if it means I have to run off and live in the wild caves with a bag over my head, I still want to know what's going on. I need to know.

Nobody was to be trusted. The plan that had ensnared her had been the brainchild of her protector, Maxim Childersin.

You know, that's a really beautiful bow," Neverfell interrupted suddenly. "Did you make it?" "Found it, mended it, modified it," was the curt reply.

Was this Faith, the good girl? The girl in the mirror was capable of anything. And she was anything but good, that much could be seen at a glance. I am not good. Something in Faith's head broke free, beating black wings into the sky. Nobody good could feel what I feel. I am wicked and deceitful and full of rage. I cannot be saved. She did not feel hot or helpless any more. She felt the way snakes looked when they moved.

Twig-minx!" it screamed. "scrap-brat!

You were a mistake, girl,' she said simply, 'but a mistake honestly meant.

She knew that if you wanted somebody to believe something, there was no point forcing it down their throat. Far better to give them a hint, a glimpse, a taste, then snatch it away from them. The faster you ran, the more they would give chase, and the more likely to believe the hard-won information when they caught it.

Makepeace felt something in her chest wrench, and wondered if it was her heart breaking. She waited to see how that would feel. Perhaps hearts broke like eggs, and spilt, and stopped working. But all she felt was numb. 'Perhaps my heart already broke and never grew back.

And the bones fell to the ground, and other bones fell on top of them, and yet more bones, until there were whole hills and cliffs made of them. Death upon death upon death upon death. And two-legged animals dug up old bones and wondered at them. And then they died as well and lay there, like a rat in the sawdust, waiting to become old bones.

No, nobody would ever call Neverfell 'my lady'. She was still a 'miss' all the way – misunderstanding, making mistakes, getting into misadventures.

She felt like an amputee, reaching out reflexively with an arm she no longer had.

You couldn't plan a picnic without strangling yourself with the cloth.

Follow that coffeehouse.

Perhaps the world has always been like this, Mosca thought as she pushed her way through the crowd. Like a broken honeypot that looks whole, but just holds together because the shards are resting in place and are glued together with honey. You just need to prod it a bit, and it all starts oozing apart.

I hate you!" Pen's would-be shout was muffled by breathlessness, and not-Triss realized that the younger girl was sobbing with exhaustion and rage. "I hate you! You stupid . . . Why did you have to happen? I never asked for a stupid . . . stupid . . . toothy . . . stupid . . . monster thing.

My mother is not evil, Faith reminded herself. She is just a perfectly sensible snake, protecting her eggs and making her way in the world as best she can.

He could gaze upon a particular deep shade of green and pick out every nuance of the color. Zeluppian Fern Green, his mind would inform him. Gray, said his soul. Just a shade of gray with a greenish name. His well-trained tongue could pick out every flavor of a sweetmeat. Honey from bees fed only cowslip nectar, his mind would tell him, with cherries marinated for twenty-one years in peach-and-saffron brandy. Ash, said his soul. Ash and dust. Even