Holly Black Quotes

If I cannot be better than them, I will become so much worse.

Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It's disgusting, and I can't stop.

Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must.

By you, I am forever undone.

Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.

If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.

Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?” Cardan asks, leaning back in the elaborately carved chair, the warmth of his words turning the question into something like a compliment. “No” I say, glad to be annoyed back into the present. “Tell me.” "I can't.

What could I become if I stopped worrying about death, about pain, about anything? If I stopped trying to belong? Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear.

Power is much easier to acquire than it is to hold on to.

If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.

Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.

Mock me all you like. Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips." His eyes are black with desire. "By you, I am forever undone.

Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks.

The easiest lies to tell are the ones you want to be true.

Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear.

It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” He walks to the door to the royal chambers, as though to end the conversation. “You probably guessed as much,” he says. “But just in case you didn’t.

I have lied and I have betrayed and I have triumphed. If only there was someone to congratulate me.

Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.

Let's have a toast. To the incompetence of our enemies.

It is my belief that books are living things.... And as living things, they need to be protected.

He looks up at me with his night-colored eyes, beautiful and terrible all at once. “For a moment,” he says, “I wondered if it wasn’t you shooting bolts at me.” I make a face at him. “And what made you decide it wasn’t?” He grins up at me. “They missed.

Kill him before he makes you love him.

So I am to sit here and feed you information,” Cardan says, leaning against a hickory tree. “And you’re to go charm royalty? That seems entirely backward.” I fix him with a look. “I can be charming. I charmed you, didn’t I?” He rolls his eyes. “Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes.

Nice things don’t happen in storybooks,” Taryn says. “Or when they do happen, something bad happens next. Because otherwise the story would be boring, and no one would read it.

Jude, you can't really think I don't know it's you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh.

Once someone's hurt you, it's harder to relax around them, harder to think of them as safe to love. But it doesn't stop you from wanting them.

She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.

If he thought I was bad, I would be worse. If he thought I was cruel, I would be horrifying.

Because you’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. Because I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale.

I missed you," I whisper against his skin and feel dizzy with the intimacy of the admission, feel more naked than when he could see every inch of me. "In the mortal world, when I thought you were my enemy, I still missed you." "My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned.

There’s always something left to lose.

Sweet Jude, you’re my dearest punishment

Those who really love you don't mean to hurt you and if they do, you can't see it in their eyes but it hurts them too.

The three of you have one solution to every problem. Murder. No key fits every lock.” Cardan gives us all a stern look, holding up a long-fingered hand with my stolen ruby ring still on one finger. “Someone tries to betray the High King, murder. Someone gives you a harsh look, murder. Someone disrespects you, murder. Someone ruins your laundry, murder.

I feel like a constellation of wounds, held together with string and stubbornness.

I want to tell you so many lies

And yet my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the undersea. It was yours before I could ever admit it, and yours it shall ever remain.

I hate you," I breathed into his mouth. "I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.

That’s what comes of hungering for something; you forget to check if it’s rotten before you gobble it down

The truth is messy. It's raw and uncomfortable. You can't blame people for preferring lies.

I love my parents' murderer; I suppose I could love anyone.

Yes, my great villan, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can

This is my room,” he points out, affronted. “And that’s my wife.” “So you keep telling everyone,” the Bomb says. “But I am going to take out her stitches, and I don’t think you want to watch that.” “Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream.” “I would,” Cardan says, standing. “And perhaps one day I will.

Before, I never knew how far I would go. Now I believe I have the answer. I will go as far as there is to go. I will go way too far.

Changing is what people do when they have no options left.

No, I won’t help you. No, I won’t hear you explain why I should. It really is a magical word: no. You say whatever bullshit you want and I just say no.

You really do want me,' I say, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath as it hitches. 'And you hate it.

I am going to keep on defying you. I am going to shame you with my defiance. You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing. You may win in the end, you may ensorcell me and hurt me and humiliate me, but I will make sure you lose everything I can take from you on the way down. I promise you this is the least of what I can do.

If curiosity killed the cat, it was satisfaction that brought it back.

I think of his riddle. How do people like us take off our armor? One piece at a time.

Yes, my sweet villain, my darling god… Sweet Jude. You are my dearest punishment

Desire is an odd thing. As soon as it’s sated, it transmutes. If we receive golden thread, we desire the golden needle.

Pain makes you strong, Madoc once told me, making me lift a sword again and again. Get used to the weight.

There you are," Cardan says as I take my place beside him. "How has the night been going for you? Mine has been full of dull conversation about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.

But kissing Locke never felt the way that kissing Cardan does, like taking a dare to run over knives, like an adrenaline strike of lightning, like the moment when you've swum too far out in the sea and there is no going back, only cold black water closing over your head.

Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. “What?” I can barely think. “That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder. “I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.

Every hero is the villain of his own story.

You are the only thing I have that is neither duty nor obligation, the only thing I chose for myself. The only thing I want.

The odd thing about ambition is this: You can acquire it like a fever, but it is not so easy to shed.

The point of a fight is not to have a good fight, it’s to win.

He's flint, you're tinder.

Show your power by appearing powerless.

I am tired of caring,” I say. “Why should I?” “Because they could kill you!” “They better,” I say to her. “Because anything less than that isn’t going to work.

But I will not stand in front of your happiness. I will not even stand in front of misery that you choose for yourself.

Come be angry at a nearer distance

You must be strong enough to strike and strike and strike again without tiring. The first lesson is to make yourself that strong.

Cardan looks at me as though he's never seen me before. He looks at me as though no one has ever spoken to him like this. Maybe no one has.

We don't need to be good. But let's try to be fair.

Perhaps you could just allow yourself to be rescued," Cardan says. "For once.

The disturbing thing about Cardan is how well he plays the fool to disguise his own cleverness.

Once, there was a girl who vowed she would save everyone in the world, but forgot herself.

My sweet nemesis , how glad I am that you returned

Tell me what I must slay, what I must steal, tell me the riddle I must solve or the hag I must trick. Only tell me the way, and I will do it, no matter the danger, no matter the hardship, no matter the cost.

I start to speak, but he stops me with a gesture. “And you.” He looks at me, his lips curving in something that’s not quite a smile; it’s more and less than that. “I knew little else, but I always knew you.” And when he kisses me, I feel as though I can finally breathe again.

No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets.

We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That's why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.

You don't know how long I've waited to hear those words," he says. "You don't want me dead.

There is no banquet too abundant for a starving man.

I wasn't kind, Jude. Not to many people. Not to you. I wasn't sure if I wanted you or if I wanted you gone from my sight so that I would stop feeling as I did, which made me even more unkind. But when you were gone—truly gone beneath the waves—I hated myself as I never have before.

Yeah, the whole family knows. It's no big deal. One night at dinner I said, 'Mom, you know the forbidden love that Spock has for Kirk? Well, me too.' It was easier for her to understand that way.

Your ridiculous family might be surprised to find that not everything is solved by murder,” Locke calls after me. “We would be surprised to find that,” I call back.

And the single last thing in my head: that I like him better than I've ever liked anyone and that of all the things he's ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.

Mortals are fragile,' I say. 'Not you,' he says in a way that sounds a little like a lament. 'You never break.

Having a heart is terrible, but you need one anyway.

That's what mortal means," I say with a sigh that I don't have to fake. "We die. Think of us like shooting stars, brief but bright.

I need to stop fantasizing about running away to some other life and start figuring out the one I have.

Death’s favorites don’t die.

She says that what you did was a cry for help." "It was," I say. "That's why I was yelling 'Heeeelp!' I don't really go in for subtlety.

If she was going to die, she might as well die sarcastic.

No matter how careful I am, eventually I’ll make another misstep. I am weak. I am fragile. I am mortal.

It is said we learn more from our failures than our successes.

I get why he chose her. I just wish she had chosen me.

Baby," she says in a harsh whisper, "in this world, lots of people will try to grind you down. They need you to be small so they can be big. You let them think whatever they want, but you make sure you get yours. You get yours.

Seelie and Unseelie, Wild Folk and Shy Folk, I am glad to have you march under my banner, glad of your loyalty, grateful for your honor.” His gaze goes to me. “To you, I offer honey wine and the hospitality of my table. But to traitors and oath breakers, I offer my queen’s hospitality instead. The hospitality of knives.

I raise a plastic glass. “To family.” “And Faerieland,” says Taryn, raising hers. “And pizza,” says Oak. “And stories,” says Heather. “And new beginnings,” says Vivi. Cardan smiles, his gaze on me. “And scheming great schemes.” To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.

He rises from the throne. “Come, have a seat.” His voice is replete with danger, lush with menace. The flowering branches have sprouted thorns so thickly that petals are barely visible. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks. “What you sacrificed everything for. Go on. It’s all yours.

The curse is broken. The king is returned." He's every bit as terrifying as any serpent. I don't care. I run into his arms. Cardan's fingers dig into my back. He's trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world.

Clap her in chains," says Randalin. Never have I so wished there was a way for me to show I was telling the truth. But there isn't. No oath of mine carries any weight. I feel a guard's hand close on my arm. Then Cardan's voice comes. "Do not touch her." A terrible silence follows. I wait for him to pronounce judgement on me. Whatever he commands will be done. His power is absolute. I don't even have the strength to fight back. "Whatever can you mean?" Randalin says. "She's-" "She is my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. "The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.

His eyes are open, watching my flushed face, my ragged breathing. I try to stop myself from making embarrassing noises. It’s more intimate than the way he’s touching me, to be looked at like that. I hate that he knows what he’s doing and I don’t. I hate being vulnerable. I hate that I throw my head back, baring my throat. I hate the way I cling to him, the nails of one hand digging into his back, my thoughts splintering, and the single last thing in my head: that I like him better than I’ve ever liked anyone and that of all the things he’s ever done to me, making me like him so much is by far the worst.

Our eyes meet, and something dangerous sparks. He hates you, I remind myself. “Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.” I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at. He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you. Maybe he hates you the more for it. After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.” He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.