Quotes from Caroline B. Cooney

I wish for Madrigal's life.

When Mary Lee awoke in the morning, she was in a vanilla-plain room, under crispy sheets, with white waffled blankets. Next to her bed was its identical twin. White and waffled. Waiting.

The Dean of Students walked swiftly down his wide stone steps, hand extended to shake theirs, as if congratulating them on the death of a twin.

Is it a crime, she thought, to use some one else's funeral as your own? A crime to take over another's room and closet and life and cassettes and telephone number?

Stop this, she thought. Stop this pitiful absurd train of thought! Some people become deadheads. Some people become glue freaks. Jon Pear is a tear collector. It's a little weird, but Madrigal loved him, so he's lovable.

You're whiplash, she whispered.

Brian was only thirteen. He was asleep by one A.M.

Rap. Songs of rage and hate blended with screaming instruments.

Lark did not know how her parents would behave in public. They never came to anything, even teacher conferences. They had basically skipped Lark's life. She didn't mind. She had made her own.

More clumsily,he put his arm around her and tried to hug. They were definitely amateurs at showing affection.

Seventh grade had a full complement of creeps, weirdos, future criminals, and nerds.

Kahnawake November 1704 Temperature 44 degrees "They won't let you see her," said Ruth flatly. "Now tell us, Mr. Williams, why has ransom not come? Do people have short memories or no memory? Why do they not rescue us? I get so angry sometimes." Sometimes! thought Mercy.

Summer. That long lovely world of slow days and late nights, warm air and friendly sun.

And Charlotte!" said Mrs. Shields in tones of disgust. "Who even knew there was a town called Charlotte?

baked pineapple cheese casserole—it sounds strange, but it's a delicious dish; I always bring it to church suppers; you take two sixteen-ounce cans of diced pineapple, add brown sugar, a stick of butter, and a pack of shredded cheese, give it a topping of buttered crushed Ritz crackers, and serve it hot, and it's sort of a dessert and sort of a side dish—

Janie and Jodie looked at him as if he were an out-of-date computer chip.

If only she had never stolen Sarah-Charlotte's milk. None of this would have happened.

All his life Reeve had reacted to good news and bad by wanting to throw things.

Reeve loved that Janie would make the plans. She'd make a list, he'd follow it, that would be that.

It wasn't that she stopped being nice; she stopped being anything

they were not six people knit close in tight, warm threads of family, but travelers accidentally in the same motel.

Stephen was holding his glass of tea so tightly it squeezed out the bottom of his grip like toothpaste and landed on the table.

He pressed the icy glass against his cheek, literally trying to chill out.

I'm interesting, she thought. I'm unusual. But I'm not beautiful....