Everybody knew that books were dangerous. Read the wrong book, it was said, and the words crawled around your brain on black legs and drove you mad, wicked mad. Frances Hardinge More Quotes by Frances Hardinge More Quotes From Frances Hardinge If you want someone to tell you what to think," the phantom answered briskly, without looking up, "you will never be short of people willing to do so." . . . "Come now," he said at last, "you can hardly claim that I have left you ignorant. I taught you to read, did I not? Frances Hardinge ignorant people thinking If you want someone to tell you what to think..." "You will never be short of people willing to do so. Frances Hardinge want people thinking The world is like a broken wrist that healed the wrong way, and will never be the same again. Frances Hardinge broken way world Oh, painted smirk of a hopeless dawn, the girl is still wearing her breeches. Frances Hardinge smirk girl dawn I want my chirfugging goose back! Frances Hardinge geese want You, sir, are a romantic, and I'm afraid the condition is incurable. -Eponymous Clent Frances Hardinge conditions True stories seldom have endings. I don't want a happy ending, I want more story. Frances Hardinge happy-endings stories want Revenge is a dish best served unexpectedly and from a distance - like a thrown trifle. Frances Hardinge dishes distance revenge If wits were pins, the man would be a veritable hedgehog. Frances Hardinge hedgehogs would-be men My child, you have a flawed grasp of the nature of myth-making. I am a poet and storyteller, a creator of ballads and sagas. Pray do not confuse the exercise of the imagination with mere mendacity. I am a master of the mysteries of words, their meanings and music and mellifluous magic. Frances Hardinge imagination exercise children Well, you will have to do. If you had died along with your mother, I would have taught the cat to read. Frances Hardinge taught cat mother Sometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp. Frances Hardinge cold taken years Where is your sense of patriotism?" I keep it hid away safe, along with my sense of trust, Mr. Clent. I don't use 'em much in case they get scratched. Frances Hardinge ems use safe Perhaps illnesses could be left behind, just like small, badly concealed china corpses. Frances Hardinge left-behind china illness My dear fellow," he continued more soberly, "If you have managed to complicate things by forming a sentimental attachment in less than a week, then I doubt there is anything I can do for you. You, sir, are a romantic, and I suspect your condition is incurable. Frances Hardinge sentimental attachment doubt No." Mosca bit her lip and shook her head firmly. Books no longer seemed quite enough. I don’t want a happy ending, I want more story. Frances Hardinge stories want book Desperation is a millstone. It wears away at the very soul, grinding away pity, kindness, humanity and courage. But sometimes it whets the mind to a sharpened point and creates moments of true brilliance. And standing there, nose tickled by the dusty hide of the stuffed deer head, such a moment visited Mosca Mye. Frances Hardinge soul humanity kindness Push something in someone’s face, and they will shove it away reflexively. Threaten to snatch it away from them, and sometimes they become convinced that it is what they want. Frances Hardinge faces want sometimes You’re a peach full of poison, you know that?" Mosca snapped back, but could not quite keep a hint of admiration from her tone. Frances Hardinge peaches hints poison That," he whispered, "is unthinkable." In Mosca’s experience, such statements generally meant that a thing was perfectly thinkable, but that the speaker did not want to think it. Frances Hardinge unthinkable want thinking
