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Cressida Cowell:
__ “Wartihog put up his hand. "What happens if we can't read, sir?" "No boasting, Wartihog!" boomed Gobber. "Get some idiot to read it for you.”
__ “The thing is, we are all, in a sense, supper. Walking, talking, breathing suppers, that's what we are. Take you, for instance. YOU are about to be eaten by ME, so that makes you supper. That's obvious. But even a murderous carnivore like myself will be supper for worms one day. We're all snatching precious moments from the peaceful jaws of time.”
Seanan McGuire:
__ We’re all puzzle boxes, skeleton and skin, soul and shadow.
__ She was a strange double exposure of an impossibility: rainbow skeleton and solemn black-and-white teen at the same time.
__ Rini's story went on and on, spinning out the creation of Confection in great lazy loops as the bakers, what seems like an endless succession of bakers one after the other, came through the door the breadmaker had baked. Each of them stayed long enough to add aother layer to the world, becoming the next name in the long pantheon of Confection's culinary gods.
__ Cora thought it was more like a pearl, layers on layers on layers, all surrounding that first, all-encompassing need. Hunger was about as primal as needs got. What if all worlds were like that? What if they were all built up by the travellers who tripped over a doorway and found their way to someplace perfect, someplace hyperreal, someplace they could _need? Someplace where that need could be _met?
__ Worlds from tend to be mixed up. A little Wicked, a little Virtuous. A little Logic, a little Nonsense. They may trend toward one or the other—... but they exist to provide the doors with a place to anchor.
__ “Nobody promised me a happy ending. They didn’t even promise me a happy existence.”
__ In case this wasn’t enough, she shouted, “Over here! Next to the naked lady!” “A cake’s a cake, whether or not it’s been frosted,” said the stranger primly. “You are not a cake, you are a human being, and I can see your vagina,” snapped Nadya. The stranger shrugged. “It’s a nice one. I’m not ashamed of it.”
__ Everything did, if left long enough to its own devices. Futures, pasts, it didn’t matter. Everything fell apart.
__ They can be hard for their families to understand, those returned, used-up miracle children. They sound like liars to people who never had a doorway of their own. They sound like dreamers. They sound... unwell, to the charitable, and simply sick to the cruel.
__ I like existing. I'm not ready to unexist just because of stupid causality. I didn't invite stupid causality to my birthday party, so it doesn't get to give me any presents.
Cassandra Clare: I read all the spoilers for the rest of the series in Wiki. Still doesn't make too much sense.
Ruth Hogan: The magical bits are OK.
__ “Wartihog put up his hand. "What happens if we can't read, sir?" "No boasting, Wartihog!" boomed Gobber. "Get some idiot to read it for you.”
__ “The thing is, we are all, in a sense, supper. Walking, talking, breathing suppers, that's what we are. Take you, for instance. YOU are about to be eaten by ME, so that makes you supper. That's obvious. But even a murderous carnivore like myself will be supper for worms one day. We're all snatching precious moments from the peaceful jaws of time.”
Seanan McGuire:
__ We’re all puzzle boxes, skeleton and skin, soul and shadow.
__ She was a strange double exposure of an impossibility: rainbow skeleton and solemn black-and-white teen at the same time.
__ Rini's story went on and on, spinning out the creation of Confection in great lazy loops as the bakers, what seems like an endless succession of bakers one after the other, came through the door the breadmaker had baked. Each of them stayed long enough to add aother layer to the world, becoming the next name in the long pantheon of Confection's culinary gods.
__ Cora thought it was more like a pearl, layers on layers on layers, all surrounding that first, all-encompassing need. Hunger was about as primal as needs got. What if all worlds were like that? What if they were all built up by the travellers who tripped over a doorway and found their way to someplace perfect, someplace hyperreal, someplace they could _need? Someplace where that need could be _met?
__ Worlds from tend to be mixed up. A little Wicked, a little Virtuous. A little Logic, a little Nonsense. They may trend toward one or the other—... but they exist to provide the doors with a place to anchor.
__ “Nobody promised me a happy ending. They didn’t even promise me a happy existence.”
__ In case this wasn’t enough, she shouted, “Over here! Next to the naked lady!” “A cake’s a cake, whether or not it’s been frosted,” said the stranger primly. “You are not a cake, you are a human being, and I can see your vagina,” snapped Nadya. The stranger shrugged. “It’s a nice one. I’m not ashamed of it.”
__ Everything did, if left long enough to its own devices. Futures, pasts, it didn’t matter. Everything fell apart.
__ They can be hard for their families to understand, those returned, used-up miracle children. They sound like liars to people who never had a doorway of their own. They sound like dreamers. They sound... unwell, to the charitable, and simply sick to the cruel.
__ I like existing. I'm not ready to unexist just because of stupid causality. I didn't invite stupid causality to my birthday party, so it doesn't get to give me any presents.
Cassandra Clare: I read all the spoilers for the rest of the series in Wiki. Still doesn't make too much sense.
Ruth Hogan: The magical bits are OK.
