Coraline Quotes

Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?' 'Cats don't have names,' it said. 'No?' said Coraline. 'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.

Because,' she said, 'when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave.

I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted just like that, and it didn't mean anything? What then?

We...we could be friends.' We COULD be rare specimens of an exotic breed of dancing African elephants, but we're not. At least, I'M not.

How do I know you'll keep your word?" asked Coraline. "I swear it," said the other mother. "I swear it on my own mother's grave." "Does she have a grave?" asked Coraline. "Oh yes," said the other mother. "I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.

I have no plans to love you," said Coraline. "No matter what. You can't make me love you.

But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?

It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.

The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.

The sky had never seemed so sky; the world had never seemed so world.

CORALINE'S STORY THERE WAS A GIRL HER NAME WAS APPLE. SHE USED TO DANCE A LOT. SHE DANCED AND DANCED UNTIL HER FEET TURND INTO SOSSAJES. THE END.

Coraline shivered. She preferred her other mother to have a location: if she were nowhere, then she could be anywhere. And, after all, it is always easier to be afraid of something you cannot see.

You know I love you,' said the other mother flatly. 'You have a very funny way of showing it,' said Coraline.

Mirrors,' she said, 'are never to be trusted.

We are small but we are many We are many we are small We were here before you rose We will be here when you fall

Nothing’s changed. You’ll go home. You’ll be bored. You’ll be ignored. No one will listen to you, really listen to you. You’re too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don’t even get your name right.

There's a but, isn't there?" said Coraline. "I can feel it. Like a rain cloud.

Oh- my twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice Cream. I give you lots of kisses, And I give lots of hugs, But I never give you sandwiches With bugs In.

Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.

It won't hurt, said her other father. Coraline knew that when grown-ups told you something wouldn't hurt it almost always did. She shook her head.

I was kidnapped by aliens, they came down from outer space with ray guns, but I fooled them by wearing a wig and laughing in a foreign accent, and I escaped.

The world seemed to shimmer a little at the edges.

On the first day Coraline's family moved in, Miss Spink and Miss Forcible made a point of telling Coraline how dangerous the well was, and they warned her to be sure she kept away from it. So Coraline set off to explore for it, so that she knew where it was, to keep away from it properly.

The cat wrinkled its nose and managed to look unimpressed. "Calling cats," it confided, "tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind.

Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.

They were having an argument as old and comfortable as an armchair, the kind of argument that no one ever really wins or loses but which can go on forever, if both parties are willing.

Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she met made any sense.

When you are scared, but you do it anyway, that's brave.

I will be brave, thought Coraline. No, I am brave.

You know that I love you." And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew knew that the other mother loved her as a possession, nothing more, a tolerated pet whose behavior was no longer amusing.

being brave didn’t mean you weren’t scared. Being brave meant you were scared, really scared, badly scared, and you did the right thing anyway.

The cat looked as if it were about to say something sarcastic. Then it flicked its whiskers and said, "Challenge her. There's no guarantee she'll play fair, but her kind of thing loves games and challenges.

But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?" "Easy," said the cat. "Think of somebody walking around the world. You start out walking away from something and end up coming back to it." "Small world," said Coraline. "It's big enough for her," said the cat. "spiders' webs only have to be large enough to catch flies." Coraline shivered.

For a moment she felt utterly dislocated. She did not know where she was; she was not entirely sure who she was. It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the bed we wake up in in the morning and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.

Be wise. Be brave. Be tricky.

She sat down on one of her grandmother's uncomfortable armchairs, and the cat sprang up into her lap and made itself comfortable. The light that came through the picture window was daylight, real golden late-afternoon daylight, not a white mist light. The sky was a robin's-egg blue, and Coraline could see trees and, beyond the trees, green hills, which faded on the horizon into purples and grays. The sky had never seemed so sky, the world had never seemed so world ... Nothing, she thought, had ever been so interesting.

Spiders' webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.

We have eyes and we have nerveses We have tails we have teeth You'll all get what you deserveses When we rise from underneath.

For tea she went down to see Misses Spink and Forcible. She had three digestive biscuits, a glass of limeade, and a cup of weak tea. The limeade was very interesting. It didn't taste anything like limes. It tasted bright green and vaguely chemical. Coraline liked it enormously. She wished they had it at home. "How are your dear mother and father?" asked Miss Spink. "Missing," said Coraline. "I haven't seen either of them since yesterday. I'm on my own. I think I've probably become a single child family.

She had the feeling that the door was looking at her, which she knew was silly, and knew on a deeper level was somehow true.

Why does she want me?" Coraline asked the cat. "Why does she want me to stay here with her?" "She wants something to love, I think," said the cat. "Something that isn't her. She might want something to eat as well. It's hard to tell with creatures like that.

Coraline opened the box of chocolates. The dog looked at them longingly. "Would you like one?" she asked the little dog. "Yes, please," whispered the dog. "Only not toffee ones. They make me drool." "I thought chocolates weren't very good for dogs," she said, remembering something Miss Forcible had once told her. "Maybe where you come from," whispered the little dog. "Here, it's all we eat.

Coraline sighed. 'You really don't understand do you?' she said. 'I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted, just like that, and it didn't mean anything? What then?

We have teeth and we have tails We have tails we have eyes We were here before you fell We will be here when you rise.

But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange and red, and red and orange and yellow, like the ember in a nursery fire of a winter's evening. I remember them.

No," said the cat. "Now, you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.

CUSTOMER: You know that film, Coraline? BOOKSELLER: Yes, indeed. CUSTOMER: My daughter loves it. Are they going to make it into a book?

The boy with the dirty face stood up and hugged Coraline tightly. 'Take comfort in this,' he whispered. 'Th'art alive. Thou livest.

It was true: the other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behavior was no longer amusing.

Small world," said Coraline. "It's big enough for her," said the cat. "Spiders' webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.

I'm an explorer," said Coraline.

Oh ... My twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice-cream.

I think most things are pretty magical, and that it’s less a matter of belief than it is one of just stopping to notice.

It is always easier to be afraid of something you cannot see.

She smiled at Coraline, as if it had been a very long time since she had smiled and she had almost, but not quite, forgotten how.

The cat dropped the rat between its two front paws. "There are those," it said with a sigh, in tones as smooth as oiled silk, "who have suggested that the tendency of a cat to play with its prey is a merciful one - after all, it permits the occasional funny little running snack to escape, from time to time. How often does your dinner get to escape?

She found herself to be quite worried that something would jump out at her, so she began to whistle. She thought it might make it harder for things to jump out at her, if she was whistling.

Someone had once told her that if you look up at the sky from the bottom of a mine shaft, even in the brightest daylight, you see the night sky and stars.

There are some people who keep track of every day and every hours, and there are people who don't, and Coraline's parents were solidly in the second camp.

Now Coraline," said Miss Spink, "what's your name?" "Coraline," said Coraline. "And we don't know each other, do we?" Coraline looked at the thin young woman with black button eyes and shook her head slowly.

It seemed to Coraline that it was crouching, and staring down at her, as if it were not really a house but only the idea of a house—and the person who had had the idea, she was certain, was not a good person.

When you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave.

How big are souls anyway?" asked Coraline. The other mother sat down at the kitchen table and leaned against the back wall, saying nothing. She picked at her teeth with a long crimson-varnished fingernail, then she tapped the finger, gently, tap-tap-tap against the polished black surface of her black button eyes.

Here you go, she said. I don't need it anymore. I'm very grateful. I think it may have saved my life, saved some other people's death.

It's Coraline, not Caroline. Coraline.' said Coraline.

I'm an explorer, -thought Coraline to herself.- And I need all the ways out of here that I can get. So I shall keep walking.

Cats don’t have names,” it said. “No?” said Coraline. “No,” said the cat. “Now, you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.” There was something irritatingly self-centered about the cat, Coraline decided. As if it were, in its opinion, the only thing in any world or place that could possibly be of any importance. Half of her wanted to be very rude to it; the other half of her wanted to be polite and deferential. The polite half won.

She hoped it wasn't a spider. Spiders made Coraline intensely uncomfortable.

Coraline went over to the window and watched the rain come down. It wasn't the kind of rain you could go out in - it was the other kind, the kind that threw itself down from the sky and splashed where it landed. It was rain that meant business, and currently its business was turning the garden into a muddy, wet soup.

Os gatos não têm nomes - respondeu. Não? - perguntou Coraline. Não - respondeu o gato. - Já vocês, pessoas, têm nomes. É por isso que não sabem quem são. Nós sabemos quem somos e por isso não precisamos de nomes.

Because," she said, "when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave.

It doth not hurt", whispered a faint voice, "She will take you life and all you are and all you care'st for, and she will leave you with nothing but mist and fog. She'll take your joy. And one day you'll wake and your heart and soul will have gone. A husk you'll be, a wisp you'll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten.

Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she had met made any sense. She sometimes wondered who they thought they were talking to.

Sharper than a serpent's tooth is a daughter's ingratitude. Still, the proudest spirits can be broken, with love.

Her other mother smiled brightly and the hair on her head drifted like plants under the sea.

I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted?

But how can you walk away from something and still come back to it?" "Easy," said the cat. "Think of somebody walking around the world. You start out walking away from something and end up coming back to it." "Small world," said Coraline. "It's big enough for her," said the cat. "Spider's webs only have to be large enough to catch flies.

There are those who have suggested that the tendency of a cat to play with its prey is a merciful one...

Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.

Because,' she said, 'when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's brave.

She wondered whether cats could all talk where she came from and just chose not to, or whether they could only walk when they were here - wherever here was.

It wasn’t brave because he wasn’t scared: it was the only thing he could do. But going back again to get his glasses, when he knew the wasps were there, when he was really scared. That was brave.’ ‘Because,’ she said, ‘when you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave.

Sometimes Coraline would forget who she was while she was daydreaming that she was exploring the Arctic, or the Amazon rainforest, or darkest Africa, and it was not until someone tapped her on the shoulder or said her name that Coraline would come back from a million miles away with a start, and all in a fraction of a second have to remember who she was, and what her name was, and that she was even there at all.

Yeah. Book nerd rule number three: never ever, leave an unfinished book at home.

Realmente no lo entiendes, ¿verdad? —repuso—. No quiero tener todo lo que deseo. Nadie lo quiere, no de verdad. ¿Dónde estaría la gracia si tuviese todo lo que quiero? Es eso y nada más, ¿y después qué?

I’ve taught you how to fuck. I’ve taught you how to make love. Now I need to teach you the full extent of foreplay.

Why does she want me to stay here with her?' 'She wants something to love, I think,' said the cat. 'Something that isn't her. She might want something to eat as well. It's hard to tell with creatures like that.

And he said that wasn’t brave of him, doing that, just standing there and being stung,’ said Coraline to the cat. ‘It wasn’t brave because he wasn’t scared: it was the only thing he could do. But going back again to get his glasses, when he knew the wasps were there, when he was really scared. That was brave.’ "‘Because,’ she said, ‘when you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave

Daddy", she said, "you've made a recipe again.

Cats don't have shoulders, not like people do. But the cat shrugged, in one smooth movement that started at the tip of it's tail and ended in a raised movement of its whiskers.

There is nothing down here,' said the pale thing indistinctly. 'Nothing but dust and damp and forgetting.

She hugged herself and told herself that she was brave, and she almost believed herself [...]

Do you hear yourself? This is what an Amazing fuck sounds like.

Calling cats,” it confided, “tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind.

Y por qué es necesario tener valor? —le preguntó el gato con tono de indiferencia. —Porque, cuando haces algo a pesar del miedo que sientes —respondió ella—, necesitas tener mucho valor.

And then, in a skittering, chittering rush, it came. The hand, running high on its fingertips, scrabbled through the tall grass and up onto a tree stump. It stood there for a moment, like crab tasting the air, and then it made one triumphant, nail-clacking leap onto the center of the tablecloth. Time slowed for Coraline. The white fingers closed around the black key....

-Per favore. Come ti chiami?- domandò al gatto. -Senti, io mi chiamo Coraline. Okay? Il gatto sbadigliò lentamente e con attenzione, rivelando una bocca e una lingua di un rosa sorprendente. - I gatti non hanno nome - disse. - No? - No - disse il gatto. - Voi persone avete il nome. E questo perché non sapete chi siete. Noi sappiamo chi siamo, perciò il nome non ci serve.

She will take your life and all you are and all you care’st for, and she will leave you with nothing but mist and fog. She’ll take your joy. And one day you’ll awake and your heart and your soul will have gone. A husk you’ll be, a wisp you’ll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten.

Oh, don't get me started! I love fantasy, I read it for pleasure, even after all these years. Pat McKillip, Ursula Le Guin and John Crowley are probably my favorite writers in the field, in addition to all the writers in the Endicott Studio group - but there are many others I also admire. In children's fantasy, I'm particularly keen on Philip Pullman, Donna Jo Napoli, David Almond and Jane Yolen - though my favorite novels recently were Midori Snyder's Hannah's Garden, Holly Black's Tithe, and Neil Gaiman's Coraline. I read a lot of mainstream fiction as well - I particularly love Alice Hoffman, A.S. Byatt, Sara Maitland, Sarah Waters, Sebastian Faulks, and Elizabeth Knox. There's also a great deal of magical fiction by Native American authors being published these days - Louise Erdrich's Antelope Wife, Alfredo Vea Jr.'s Maravilla, Linda Hogan's Power, and Susan Power's Grass Dancer are a few recent favorites. I'm a big fan of Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, and Anthony Trollope - I re-read Jane Austen's novels in particular every year.Other fantasists say they read Tolkien every year, but for me it's Austen. I adore biographies, particularly biographies of artists and writers (and particularly those written by Michael Holroyd). And I love books that explore the philosophical side of art, such as Lewis Hyde's The Gift, Carolyn Heilbrun's Writing a Woman's Life, or David Abram's Spell of the Sensuous. (from a 2002 interview)