Rachel Hartman (born 1972 in Lexington, Kentucky) is an American author of Young adult fiction. She is known for her books Seraphina (2012),Shadow Scale (2015), and Tess of the Road (2018).
The world inside myself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods.
However strenuously the world pulls us apart, however long the absence, we are not changed for being dashed upon the rocks. I knew you then, I know you now, I shall know you again when you come home.
I cannot perch among those who think that I am broken.
Did I become court composer through masterful procrastination? Hardly!
My own survival required me to counterbalance interesting with invisible.
Your lies didn't stop me loving you; your truth hasn't stopped me either.
I had felt the shot coming; I hadn't realized the bow was loaded with this very quarrel, perfectly calibrated to hit him hardest. What part of me had been studying him, stockpiling knowledge as ammunition?
The world is seldom so simple that it hinges on us alone.
Was it probably true that reasoning beings were equal? It seemed more like a belief than a fact, even if I agreed with it. If you followed logic all the way back to its origin, did you inevitably end up at point of illogic, an article of faith?
We were all monsters and bastards, and we were all beautiful.
For future reference: do not underestimate the seductive power of math.
Claude rubs the back of his neck and wrinkles his nose, about to tell me he was never sad. I believe this is called bravado and is not limited to lawyers, or even men, although that combination makes it almost unavoidable.
The truth may not be told. Here is an acceptable lie.
Sometimes the truth has difficulty breaching the city walls of our beliefs. A lie, dressed in the correct livery, passes through more easily.
That’s the secret to performance: conviction. The right note played tentatively still misses its mark, but play boldly and no one will question you. If one believes there is truth in art – and I do – then it’s troubling how similar the skill of performing is to lying. Maybe lying is itself a kind of art. I think about that more than I should.
The twin gods, Necessity and Chance, walked among the stars. What needed to be, was; what might be, sometimes was.
I was drawn to his aloofness, the way cats gravitate toward people who’d rather avoid them.