Ya Quotes - Page 18

I bet she thought she was getting into a fight with a vanilla wafer on roller skates but little did she know she was getting into a fight with a spider sandwich.

I didn't want to go to hell, but even the idea of reclaining my halo scared me because it would mean leaving Aly.

You won't find the tales I bear in any books . . . My tales are from the Moon Realm.” —Ebb Autumn

There comes a time when a man must forgo familiarity and venture into uncertainty; risking obscurity, but also quite possibly… finding meaning.

Vane grabbed me. “DuLac, let’s chat.” British-speak for “Stand still while I yell at you.

According to Sarah, who had gone two years ago, prom was famous for being an overpriced disappointment where most people had no fun.

And I want to kiss you every day, but not just because I'm saying goodbye.

When she came back minutes later with a great, fat, skinned rabbit, Po had built a fire. The flames cast orange light on the horses and on himself. "It was the least I could do," Po said, drily, "and I see you've already skinned the hare. I'm beginning to think I won't have much responsibility as we travel through the forest together.""Does it other you? You're welcome to do the hunting yourself. Perhaps I can stay by the fire and mend your socks, and scream if I hear strange noises.

But in that moment, I didn’t want to be trusted. I wanted something far more primal. I stretched up on my tiptoes and leaned in. I closed my eyes as his scent overcame me. When his lips touched mine it felt as if he’d caressed them with a feather. It was all I could do not to wrap myself around him and do things I’d never really thought about doing before.

Holy Bon Jovi, the queen of darkness actually had a soul.

I'm Dr. Canton. As you know, most of the population has been wiped out by an unknown virus. Now that an acceptable waiting period has passed since the last known case, it's time for you to fulfill your purpose...."t"You will take the van behind me to the next rendezvous point in St. Louis, Missouri. ...t"Each of you has been trained for a specific function during your time here. Your survival will depend on it.

That's the thing about being a criminal," Kat told her. "Nothing ever goes according to plan.

I'd waited so long for his kiss, and it was so much more, so much better than I had dared imagine. Golden sunshine burst behind my closed eyelids as I became a being entwined with the sun.His hands pulled me against his body and I melted into him, my limbs tingling and warm. Amon's mouth moved over mine, slowly, like he could make the kiss last forever.

Because you're beautiful, Layla, and while I may say that one word to you a lot, I don't simply toss it around. And I've seen many, many beautiful things. People as beautiful as demons are atrocious. You, by far, shine brighter than any of them. It's more than what's on the outside. It comes from within you. I've seen a lot of things and nothing, nothing, comes close to you.

We are in a boy recession," Eugene repeats. "There's been a sudden, drastic decrease in the male population at this school. And I'm gonna take advantage of it.

She didn't want to talk about his nonsensical fairy stuff. "That's because you can't take me there. You're not capable of it. Because it doesn't exist.

She pulled me into a hug and I squeezed her so tight we lost our breaths."I love you, Soph." She pulled back from me, her eyes wide and searching. "I'll see you really soon.""I know," I said, forcing my smile. "And I love you too."She tapped my nose and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper."We're the real love story here, you know that, don't you?"I wiped a tear from my cheek. "I know that, Mil. I've always known that.

I don’t know much about psychoanalysis, but I don’t believe that we can blame our actions on our upbringings. If we could, then nobody would be responsible for anything they do.

How about a little teaser from CROWN OF ICE? Thyra Winther, the current Snow Queen speaks about her "home":At night the palace’s crystal halls are tinged sapphire. One of the first bits of magic that Voss taught me was to set the carved walls alight so that I’m not forced to walk the halls in darkness. I conjure a cold light that glows within the thick walls without melting the ice. I mastered this trick quickly once I knew what those shadows held. If I leave an area in darkness, they come—the girls who reigned as Snow Queen before me. “I must find it.” Their hollow words wind about me like a shroud. “The last piece. I must place it. Give it to me.

I guess I'll wake up tomorrow and find I'm not in Kansas anymore.""You're from Kansas?" Most of Kansas was not a lion fae territory. She'd heard the cobra fae loved to go there, however.

Margo always loved mysteries. And in everything that came afterward, I could never stop thinking that maybe she loved mysteries so much that she became one.

Now I see that it isn't the problems along the way that make us or break us. It's how we learn to stand and face them that makes the difference.

Without the Dreamscape, we can’t sleep.My parents remind me all the time about stories their parents told them, of how things were in the Manic Age. The time before our bodies were upgraded to sync with the amazing invention called the Dreamscape. Thirty-eight years ago, people actually had to fall asleep on their own and, sometimes, they would toss and turn for hours. My grandparents said when sleep, in its mercy, did come, it often brought with it horrible images I’ve heard people used to call nightmares.

Cassie spoke up, "He is like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys." ...Tameron said "No one is lost here. And we have just as many girls, well, maybe not as many as we have boys, but a fair amount. Who is this Peter Pan you speak of? A hero?" he asked Cassie.Alicia spoke up then ... "He led a group of boys in a world of adventure on an island paradise."Tameron looked at Cassie to see if she agreed. She smiled and nodded."This Peter Pan was real?" he asked."No, he was a fairy... uhm, tale," Cassie said.Tameron smiled. "I like the idea. I'll have to read it sometime...

He tugs me closer, and my ankles lock behind him. "Is it PG-13 time?

In the ensuing silence, I have the time to contemplate the word cute – how dismissive it is, how it’s the equivalent of calling someone little, how it makes a person into a baby, how the word is a neon sign burning through the dark reading, “Feel Bad About Yourself.

He was so close his breath touched my cheek. Staring into his eyes, I could almost forget about the nightmare. I could almost forget about Mama. Like the woods back in Virginia, his eyes changed color with his mood—greener when he laughed and darker, like now, when he was angry or worried. They were kind, serious, intelligent eyes that crinkled in the corners when he smiled.

That Abbie is such a freaking brat who doesn’t know anything! My William is wasting away in that castle and that stuck up, self-righteous cow doesn’t even care because now she’s just all ooooo, Peter I love you! Well I don’t love Peter and he’s a jerk. Let’s go bust down the door!” She sat back and calmly pushed her hair from her face, “Now would you get me a soda?

You better hope she doesn't say a word," Gabe warned, lifting a finger to Uri's nose.Uri grabbed the finger laughing, "What are you going to do, cupcake? Seduce me to death, in all your sexy glory?""Just shut up," Gabe groaned, pushing the door shut in his friend's face.

Stars are the souls of old sailors. They plot the skies and guide the wayward home.

Human, witch, goblin, or whatever, a kiss is what is it is created from. Every moment, every heartache, every breath of fear and passion and longing was all wound up in this one kiss. It was more feeling than any word could express.

magic swirls about us like an invisible fog of energy that can be tapped by those gifted enough, using a variety of techniques that center on layered spelling, mumbled incantations, and a burst of concentrated thought channeled through the index fingers. The technical name for this energy is "variable electro-gravitational mutable subatomic force," which doesn't mean anything at all--confused scientists just gave it an important-sounding name so as not to lose face. The usual term is "wizidrical energy," or simply "the crackle.

How ya doing?” Gabby’s face came into view, and she grinned down at me. She’d stopped doing her healing thing, and the pain rushed in.“I’m just peachy,” I quipped, throat scratchy. “Only hurts when I breathe or blink or exist, if I’m being honest.

There's something about the thousands of glittering lights, the veil of nighttime that almost makes this place beautiful, especially in the reflection of the water. It makes everything askew, disoriented. There's more truth in a ripple of water than in a clear day.

With every breath I take, I will always love you.

Every teenager in the world feels like that, feels broken or out of place, different somehow, royalty mistakenly born into a family of peasants. The difference in your case is that it's true.

He didn’t save me, though. He allowed me the freedom to save myself, which is the very best type of rescue.

Bonding over illegal drugs hadn't magically solved our problems,

I don't want to be a vampire' she told herself. But in her dreams, she kind of did.

Every spot his mouth touches closes the empty spaces inside.

In the past few years, more and more passionate debates about the nature of SFF and YA have bubbled to the surface. Conversations about race, imperialism, gender, sexuality, romance, bias, originality, feminism and cultural appropriation are getting louder and louder and, consequently, harder to ignore. Similarly, this current tension about negative reviews is just another fissure in the same bedrock: the consequence of built-up pressure beneath. Literary authors feud with each other, and famously; yet genre authors do not, because we fear being cast as turncoats. For decades, literary writers have also worked publicly as literary reviewers; yet SFF and YA authors fear to do the same, lest it be seen as backstabbing when they dislike a book. (Small wonder, then, that so few SFF and YA titles are reviewed by mainstream journals.) Just as a culture of sexual repression leads to feelings of guilt and outbursts of sexual moralising by those most afflicted, so have we, by denying and decrying all criticism that doesn’t suit our purposes, turned those selfsame critical impulses towards censorship.Blog post: Criticism in SFF and YA

I shut up. I don't fight, I don't scream. Shame rides alongside my terror. But somewhere deep, deep inside, I hear Mom tell me to trust my gut. My gut tells me I am blind and I am lost, and if I fought for freedom now, it would end in my death. I listen to my gut. Because I want to live.

Twists, turns, virgins and bad boys. I love a good YA read. Do you?

Rourk didn’t even know her name, but he knew he’d never seen anyone so magnificent in his life. Her wavy hair glistened in the sunlight. She had a delicate, round face with large, blue-green eyes and full lips. With her cheeks flushed from the cold fall air, she reminded him of a porcelain doll. He knew that her looks deceived; her bold, daring eyes gave her away. She constantly observed her surroundings. Rourk smiled to himself; soon they would be together.

Fall into the cavern of my mind, and together there, we will dine.

Everyone has to die at some point, so the thought of passing on together while holding hands with my one true love has always sounded like an amazing fairy tale. It reminds me of the old Shakespearean play Romeo and Juliet, and of the powerful love they shared.

History is just a way of keeping score, but it doesn't have to be who we are.

If I was smart now, I would simply walk back the way I had come instead of proceeding forward into the face of danger. Obviously there was a part of me that had considered facing the two vânătors alone and had decided that was a good idea. Perhaps it was PMS? What other logical reason could there be for continuing on a path this ridiculously dangerous and stupid? Unless of course the only plausible explanation left was that I was in fact a total moron, with a capital M? I thought about that for a second. Nope, I just can’t see it.

Oh, what had she done?"He'd startled her; that was the problem. It was all his fault he was lying on the ground, looking rather cherub like, his blond hair curling about his ears, his bright blue eyes closed now, his masculine lips parted slightly as he slept the sleep of the dead.She studied his masculine lips. And thought just how much havoc she could wreak if she kissed him. Served him right for startling her so.Without analyzing whether she should do it, and just because she could, she pressed her mouth against his and gently kissed his lips, meaning only to give a quick peck and that was it.... His lips curved up under hers and for a second, she thought he was awake, smiling at her kissing him....Her thoughts reverted to the kiss and immediately the human faery tale Sleeping Beauty and the prince giving the princess a kiss to wake her sprang to mind. Why ever did humans make up such nonsense anyway?

I’m not your boyfriend!” I snapped, trying to gently move her hands away from my body.“How can you say that?” Sara asked in horror.“It’s shockingly effortless,” I replied. “My vocal chords vibrate, and my mouth and tongue articulate. I can even do it without thinking.” I had to remind myself to stay calm, and sarcasm was the best way to do that.“When are you going to give me a key to your house so I don’t have to knock like some guest?” Sara asked, coming at me again.I backed away. “How about never? Is never good for you?”Sara, undeterred, said, “You’re the reason I go to therapy on Fridays.”“The plot thickens!” Gabby exclaimed for comedic relief.

Some people were nice to you simply because they liked you.

…I bet I’ll haunt your dreams tonight. I just wan’ed to paint a picture in your head. I wan’ed you to see me as the monster I can often be. You see, you are what you allow people to know ‘bout you. Truth or lies or some combination of the two, is what makes you who you are. So, you don’t know me yet. But what I need you to know about me for now, is that I can’t be trusted.

Somehow, the pain and rage and confusion of the past eighteen years dissolves until all that is left is this one perfect moment; unscripted, unedited, it's ours and ours alone.

We have so long been subject to external criticism that we don’t know how to react to internal criticism, because whereas the most enduring, positive and sensible response to the former is a united front – you shall not divide us, here we stand – responding to the latter is an entirely different ballgame.This is my fear: that as a community, we don’t know how to critique ourselves, and that this is dong us damage. Criticism, and specifically the criticism of both literary publications and the mainstream press, has so long been the weapon of the enemy that our first response on seeing it wielded internally is to call it the work of traitors. We have found strength in the creation of our own conventions and the hallowing of our own legends, flourishing to such an extent that, even if we are not yet accepted into the mainstream literary establishment, we are nonetheless part of the cultural mainstream. We are written about inaccurately, yet we are written about; and if there ever was a time when the whole genre seemed a precarious, faddish endeavour, then that time is surely past.Blog post: Criticism in SFF and YA

My love life couldn't be more nonexistent if Julius was all all-girls' boarding school with a moat full of alligators around it.

Why fear death? It is the most beautiful adventure in life.