Libba Bray (born Martha Elizabeth Bray; March 11, 1964) is an American writer of young adult novels including the Gemma Doyle Trilogy, Going Bovine, and The Diviners.
When you peeled back the skin, you were dealing with bone and muscle, blood and nerve endings. It was all the same. She liked the beautiful logic of the circulatory system, the elegance of the neurological, and the fierce warrior spirit of the heart. The body had rules and it had quirks.
I will tell you the story of how we found ourselves in a realm where dreams are formed, destiny is chosen, and magic is as real as a handprint in the snow.
The beast attempts a beautific look that could be mistaken for a bout of painful wind.
You're special. I'm special. The whole world's special, so don't you forget it. The universe wants us All to be happy, Full of smiles and all that stuff, All that stuff That's happy and smiley. So get happy, happy, happy right now! Get happy, happy, happy right now! Get happy, happy, happy right now!
I know it. I know I shall make beastly mistakes, Father-" "The world does not forgive mistakes so quickly, my girl. " He sounds bitter and sad. "If the world will not forgive me," I say softly, "I shall have to learn to forgive myself. " He nods in understanding. "And how will you marry? Or do you intend to marry?" I think of Kartik, and tears threaten. "I shall meet someone one day, as Mother found you.
The face staring back at me isn't beautiful but she isn't something that would scare the horses, either.
I have done what they expected of me. I have curtsied for my Queen and made my debut. This is what I have anticipated eagerly for years. So why do I feel so unsatisfied? Everyone is merry. They haven't a care in the world. And perhaps that is it. How terrible it is to have no cares, no longings. I do not fit. I feel too deeply and want too much.
No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?
My personal motto is: WWWWD?: What Would Wonder Woman Do?
Yes, go on. Leave. You're always coming and going. The rest of us are stuck here. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew who you are? He doesn't really care—only when it suits him.
I run after her, not really giving chase. I’m running because I can, because I must. Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
I feel like I swallowed a Magritte. Like on the inside, I'm made of clouds and floating eyes, green apples, and slowly rising men in bowler hats.
Why should we girls not have the same privileges as men? Why do we police ourselves so stringently- whittling each other down with cutting remarks or holding ourselves back from greatness with a harness woven of fear and shame and longing? If we do not deem ourselves worthy first, how shall we ever ask for more?
I hear they feed you in Sing Sing,” Evie muttered. “Three squares a day. ” “Evangeline,” Will said with a sigh. “Charity begins at home. ” “So does mental illness.
Look, I know this seems a little half-assed. . . ' 'No, dude. I'd be thrilled if this plan were half-assed. This is, like, no-assed. ' 'You're right. It's the most no-assed thing I've ever done in my life.
What happened to the winner" Adina asked. "She tripped. " "And the first runner-up?" Miss Michigan cracked her knuckles. "She tripped, too.
My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I was told you be the one to help me cross on to the next world. " "Who told you this?" His eyes widen. "A fearsome creature with a head full of snakes!" "You musn't fear her," I say, taking the man's hand and leading his toward the river. "She's as tame as a pussycat. She'd probably lick your hand given the chance. " "Didn't seem harmless," he whispers, shuddering. "Yes, well, things are not always as they appear, sir, and we must learn to judge for ourselves.
For the first time, I notice the lax skin at Mrs. Nightwing's jaw, the fine down that lies upon her cheek like the imprint of a childe's hand, and I wonder what it must be like watching yourself soften under the years, unable to stop it. what it's like measuring your days in perfecting girls' curtsies and drinking nightly glasses of sherry, trying to keep up with the world as it pulls you spinning into the furure, knowing you are always one step behind it.
I'm floating inside my skin. I could go on floating like this for days. Right now, the real world with its heartbreak and disappointments is just a pulse against the protective membrane we've drunk ourselves into. It's somewhere outside us, waiting. " A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 141, by