Jeanne Duprau Quotes

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is. And when anger is the boss, you get unintended consequences.

When someone has been mean to you, why would you want to be good to them?' 'You wouldn't want to. That's what makes it hard. You do it anyway. Being good is hard. Much harder than being bad.

There is so much darkness in Ember, Lina. It's not just outside, it's inside us, too. Everyone has some darkness inside. It's like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

The main thing to do is pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you'll know what no one else knows, and that's always useful.

What you need to learn, children, is the difference between right and wrong in every area of life. And once you learn the difference, you must always choose the right.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

People find a way through just about anything.

A person who thought he knew everything simply didn’t understand how much there was to know.

Wouldn't it be strange, she thought, to have a blue sky? But she liked the way it looked. It would be beautiful - a blue sky.

Why, if its going to be allright, do we see it getting worse every day?

Remember the city, the city remember Where treasure is hidden under the ground The city, the city, always remember That's where the treasure will be found.

People didn't make life, so they can't destroy it. Even if we were to wipe out every bit of life in the world, we can't touch the place life comes from. Whatever made the plants and animals and people spring up in the first place will always be there, and life will spring up again.

She realized all at once that Doon, thin, dark eyed Doon, with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket, and his good heart---- was the person she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend. --City of Ember--

Maybe there was no happily ever after [...] but there was happiness sometimes and she had it now, doing what she knew she was born for.

Now Doon seemed to care for his new friends more than he did for her. Every time she thought about him she felt a thud of pain, like a bruised place inside her.

The main thing is to pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you’ll know what no one else knows, and that’s always useful.

Lina loved her little sister so much that it was like an ache under her ribs.

It would be something that another person had written down without understanding its significance; just a sentence or two that would be like a flash of light.

A darkness different from Ember's, but just as frightening...

It wasn't because they had extraordinary powers, really, but because of how well they used the ordinary powers everyone had: the power of courage, the power of kindness, the powers of curiosity and knowledge.

His sympathy made tears spring to Lina's eyes. Doon looked startled for a moment, and then he took a step toward her and wrapped his arms around her. He gave her a squeeze so quick and tight that it made her cough, and then it made her laugh. She realized all at once that Doon--thin, dark-eyed Doon with his troublesome temper and his terrible brown jacket and his good heart--was the person that she knew better than anyone now. He was her best friend.

The main thing is to pay attention. Pay close attention to everything, notice what no one else notices. Then you'll know what no one else knows, and that's always useful.

Unintended consequences, he thought miserably. He was angry at his anger, the way it surged up and took over.

It’s for my God, the god of dogs, and snakes and dust mites and albino bears and Siamese twins, the god of stars and starships and other dimensions, the god who loves everyone and makes everything marvelous.

Doon was touched. Kenny looked like a tiny little wisp, but there was something strong inside him. --People of Sparks--

He says I'm beautiful as a red tomato

Lina looked out at the lighted streets spreading away in every direction, the streets she knew so well. She loved her city, worn out and crumbling though it was.

The idea seemed to be that if you prayed extremely hard--especially if a lot of people prayed at once--maybe God would change things. The trouble was, what if your enemy was praying, too? Which prayer would God listen to?

They lifted their faces to the astonishing warmth. The sky arched over them, a pale, clear blue. Lina felt as though a lid that had been on her all her life had been lifted off. Light and air rushed though her, making a song, like the songs of Ember, only it was a song of joy. She looked at Doon and saw that he was smiling and crying at the same time, and she realized that she was, too.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

I try to remind myself that we are never promised anything, and that what control we can exert is not over the events that befall us but how we address ourselves to them.

The day had a strange but comforting feel to it, like a rest between the end of one time and the beginning of another.

Everyone has some darkness inside. It’s like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

You know, son, I don't think there's such a thing as an easy life. There's always going to be hard work and there will always be misfortunes we can't control, lurking out at the edges - storms, sickness, wolves. But there is such a thing as a good life and I think that we have one here.

Kept talking about how she's studying every holy book she can get her hands on, aiming to understand God's word. I quoted St. Augustine to her. 'If you understand it, it isn't God.' Gave her a cup of chamomile tea.

People in Ember rarely threw anything away. They made the best possible use of what they had.

Poppy was now almost well. She still slept more than usual, but when she wasn't sleeping she tromped around the doctor's house pulling spoons off the table and spilling cups of water and crumpling pages of books. That is, she was almost her old self.

Mrs. Murdo, walkind even more briskly to keep her spirits up, was crossing Harken Square when something fell to the pavement just in front of her with a terrific thump. How extraordinary, she thought, bending to pick it up. It was sort of a bundle. She began to untie it.

Can't it be stopped?" said Lina. She shifted around under her blanket, trying to find a place to sit where rocks weren't digging into her. Maybe it can be stopped at the beginning," Maddy said. "If someone sees what's happening and is brave enough to reverse the direction." Reverse the direction?" Yes, turn it around." How would you do that?" You'd do something good," said Maddy. "Or at least you'd keep yourself from doing something bad." But how could you?" said Lina. "When people have been mean to you, why would you want to be good to them?" You wouldn't want to," said Maddy. "That's what makes it hard. you do it anyway. Being good is hard. Much harder than being bad.

What was the power that turned the worm into a moth? It was greater than any power the Builders had had, he was sure of that. The power that ran the city of Ember was feeble by comparison...

She started back down the trail. If no dogs find the food, she thought, maybe squirrels will. Or that white bear. Or if no one finds it, then it can all be for God. Only not for the Prophet's God, her mean, picky God who dislikes so many things. It's for my God, the god of dogs and snakes and dust mites and albino bears and Siamese twins, the god of stars and starships and other dimensions, the god who loves everyone and who makes everything marvelous.

All these words, written so long ago, seemed to say to her, Remember us. We were here. We were real.

But that was what made things so exciting--nothing was ever how you expected it to be.

There is so much darkness in Ember, Lina. It’s not just outside, it’s inside us, too. Everyone has some darkness inside. It’s like a hungry creature. It wants and wants and wants with a terrible power. And the more you give it, the bigger and hungrier it gets.

Lina liked going to the market plaza. It was always alive with people and animals, and the market had things she'd never seen before-sandals made of old truck tires, hats and baskets woven of straw.

Lina couldn't sleep at first, thinking of the old songs and what they meant. Someone, long ago, had hoped that at least a few people would survive and had wanted them to remember her city and the treasure it held, the treasure that was most valuable of all - herself, her family, and all of the generations of people who had lived in that secret place, their purpose, though they didn't know it, to make sure that human beings did not vanish from the world, no matter what happened above.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction.” —Martin Luther King, Jr., “Strength to Love,” 1963

Think about what it would mean to fight," he said. "Say we barricade ourselves here in the hotel and refuse to leave. They come at us with their Weapon, whatever it is. Some of us are hurt, some die. We go out to meet them with whatever weapons we can find - sticks, maybe, or pieces of broken glass. We battle each other. Maybe they set fire to the hotel. Maybe we march into the village and steal food from them nad they come after us and beat us. We beat them back. In the end, maybe we damage them so badly that they're too weak to make us leave. What do we have? Friends and neighbors and families dead. A place half destroyed, and those left in it full of hatred for us. And we ourselves will have to live with the memory of the terrible things we have done.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself any-more.

She loved to run. She could run forever. And she loved exploring every nook and cranny of the city, which was what a messenger got to do.

Maybe. The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself any-more. Anger is.

she loved exploring every nook and cranny

Full to the brim with hope and love and joy, she watched the little light bulb shining like a promise in the night.

...clearly not all these people who said that God spoke to them heard the same thing. All the fighting nations said God was on their side. How could God be on everyone's side?

How can you stand to do it? The poor little mouse!" Grover shrugged. "It's nature," he said. "Nature likes the snake just as much as the mouse.

You should THINK about what's the right thing to do. Not just take someone's word for it" -Grover

Love is love, seems to me. As long as what you love isn't armed robbery, or bombing airplanes, or kidnapping little children." -Crystal

Nickie didn’t like listening to him because his voice always sounded too smooth.

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren't the master of yourself. Anger is.

Sure", he said. He started moving the bits around. "Lets see. This looks like it must say . . . and so then this would go here . . . and this . . . " He paused and looked up at her. "Haven't we done this before?

Don’t worry,” said Maddy. “People didn’t make life, so they can’t destroy it. Even if we were to wipe out every bit of life in the world, we can’t touch the place life comes from. Whatever made plants and animals and people spring up in the first place will always be there, and life will spring up again.

In the second row was a boy named Doon Harrow. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and his hands clasped tightly together. His hair looked rumpled, as if he hadn’t combed it for a while. He had dark, thick eyebrows, which made him look serious at the best of times and, when he was anxious or angry, came together to form a straight line across his forehead. His brown corduroy jacket was so old that its ridges had flattened out.

Lina had never seen anyone so disorganized as the doctor. She peeked into the medicine room once when the doctor was out and was amazed at the clutter in there-shelves and cupboards and tables piled with stuff in bottles and stuff in boxes and stuff in jars, all higgledy-piggledy. How Dr. Hester found anything she couldn't imagine.

His vision of the future, already shadowed by anxiety, had just grown several shades darker.

Resentment increased on both sides, until any little accident could flare up into a fight.

The people of Ember were just as grubby as the people of Sparks; everyone looked more or less the same.

Tick wanted power. He wanted glory. He wanted war, with himself in command. He had raised his army

Tick wanted power. He wanted glory. He wanted war, with himself in command. He had raised his army by attacking his own people.

Lina laughed. So did Doon. A look went between them, like a quick current of electricity

What are those?

This is such an amazing world," he said finally, putting the glass and magnet into his pocket. "I love it here, except for the troubles with people.

When anger is in control, you get unintended consequences.

Why did people always blame kids for things like this? As far as Grover could tell, grown-ups caused a lot more trouble in the world than kids.

That's the city I see in my dreams, Poppy. It isn't like Ember at all. The sky is light and the buildings are tall and sort of sparkle." (Lina)

She flicked off the TV.

We were underground', she said. 'Not just the pipeworks, everything!

What you get is what you get. What you DO with what you get, though...that's more the point, wouldn't you say" -Doon's Father

The trouble with anger is, it gets hold of you. And then you aren’t the master of yourself anymore. Anger is.

enough is all that a person of wisdom needs.

city was lost in darkness now, and anyone left there was lost, too.

Instead of getting at the other side with something just as bad as they did to you - or something worse - you do something good. Or at least you keep yourself from doing something bad

Then came "The Song of Darkness," the last of the three songs, and the one most filled with longing and majesty. The soul of Ember was in this song. Its tremendous chords held all the sorrow and all the strength of the people of the city. The song reached its climax: "Darkness like an endless night," sang the hundreds of voices, so powerfully the air seemed to shiver. And at that moment, the lights once more went out. The voices faltered, but only for an instant. Then they rose again in the darkness, stronger even than before. Lina sang, too. She stood up and sang with all her might into the deep, solid blackness.

pressed up against the rear wall, half hidden by shirts and dresses dangling from hangers, was a tall, thin girl with wide, terrified eyes. Her hands were wrapped around the muzzle of a small, wildly squirming dog.

But how could you?" said Lina. "When people have been mean to you, why would you want to be good to them?" "You wouldn't want to," Maddy said. "That's what makes it hard. You do it anyway. Being good is hard. Much harder than being bad.

I don’t think there’s such a thing as an easy life. There’s always going to be hard work, and there will always be misfortunes we can’t control lurking out at the edges—storms, sickness, wolves. But there is such a thing as a good life, and I think we have one here.

Goats and oxen, pulling carts in from the field, left their big, smelly plops all over. these got cleaned up eventually-someone came and scraped them into buckets and took them away-but often this didn't happen until halfway through the morning, and people had to step carefully until then and breathe in that powerful smell.

Nickie was so tired of the Crisis. It had been going on now for months. On TV and the radio, it was all you ever heard about: how Our Side and Their Side had come almost, but not quite, to the point of declaring all-out war. In the last week or so, the radio had started broadcasting frightening instructions every hour: “In the event of a declaration of war or a large-scale terrorist attack, cities will be evacuated in an orderly fashion…. Residents will be directed to safe locations…. Citizens should remain calm….

You did a remarkable thing, running out alone like that. Quite Courageous." "Well, I had to," said Lina. Mrs. Murdo raised her eyebrows questioningly. Lina was too tired to explain about trying to do a good thing to change the direction and how she had hoped that someone else might do it so she just shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. Mrs. Murdo ran a comb through her hair. "I believe a great many of us were thinking of doing the same thing," she said. "But no one quite had the courage. Only you." "I didn't feel courageous. " said Lina. "I felt afraid." "That makes it all the braver." said Mrs, Murdo. - The People of Sparks

We come from the city of Ember,” the boy said. “We left there because our city was dying. We need help.” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer exchanged glances. Mary frowned. “The city of Ember? Where’s that? We’ve never heard of it.” The boy gestured back the way they had come, to the east. “That way,” he said. “It’s under the ground.” The frowns deepened. “Tell us the truth,” said Ben, “not childish nonsense.” This time the girl spoke up. She had long, snarled hair with bits of grass caught in it. “It isn’t a lie,” she said. “Really. Our city was underground. We didn’t know it until we came out.” Ben snorted impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. “Who is in charge here?” He looked at the bald man. “Is it you?” The bald man shook his head and gestured toward the boy and the girl. “They’re as in charge as anyone,” he said. “The mayor of our city is no longer with us. These young people are speaking the truth. We have come out of a city built underground.” The people around him all nodded and murmured, “Yes” and “It’s true.” “My name is Doon Harrow,” said the boy. “And this is Lina Mayfleet. We found the way out of Ember.” He thinks he’s pretty great, thought Torren, hearing a note of pride in the boy’s voice. He didn’t look so great. His hair was shaggy, and he was wearing an old jacket that was coming apart at the seams and grimy at the cuffs. But his eyes shone out confidently from under his dark eyebrows. “We’re hungry,” the boy said. “And thirsty. Will you help us?” Mary, Ben, and Wilmer stood silent for a moment. Then Mary took Ben and Wilmer by the arms and led them aside a few steps. They whispered to each other, glanced up at the great swarm of strangers, frowned, whispered some more. While he waited to hear what they’d say, Torren studied the people who said they came from underground.

It's like this," Maddy said at last. "say the A people and the B people get in an argument. The A people do something that hurts the B people. The B people strike back to get even. But that just makes the A people angry all over again. They say, 'You hurt us, so we're going to hurt you.' It keeps on like that. One bad thing leads to a worse bad thing, on and on." It was like what Torren had said when he was telling her about the Disaster. Revenge. he'd called it. "Can't it be stopped?" said Lina. She shifted around under her blanket, tying to find a place to sit where rocks weren't digging into her. "maybe it can be stopped at the beginning," Maddy said. "if someone sees what's happening and is brave enough to reverse the direction." "Reverse the direction?" "Yes, turn it around." "How would you do that?" "You'd do something good." said Maddy. "Or at least you'd keep yourself from doing something bad." "But how could you?" said Lina. "When people have been mean to you, why would you want to be good to them?" "You wouldn't want to," Maddy said. "That's what makes it hard. You do it anyway. Being good is hard. Much harder than being bad."- The People of Sparks

down the stone steps to the windswept beach, her raven tresses flowing out behind her. She scanned the empty sands, and when she saw no sign of Blaine, a great cry of anguish escaped her lips. She could not live without him! She would sooner die!

She decided to keep this letter because of the strange way it was written.

The rhythm of his steps said, Happy to be here, happy to be here. Rays of sunlight shot between the clouds, making spots of light like polka dots on the ground.

Signs of craziness, like Hoyt McCoy dancing around naked? Disgusting filthiness, like a smelly outhouse or rat-swarmed garbage?

Officer Gurney ran a strip of yellow tape around the back area of the café, roping it off so no one could disturb the site. Then he scanned the crowd. His eyes lit on a comfortably plump woman wearing a red down jacket that made her look even plumper. She had a short brownish-blond ponytail that stuck out through a hole in her red baseball hat. “Brenda,” said Officer Gurney. “What do you think?” Grover was in danger of being late for school by this time. He’d already been late twice this month. If he was late again, he might get a note sent home to his parents. But he had to risk it. This was too interesting to miss. The woman stepped forward. Grover knew her, of course; everyone did. Mrs. Brenda Beeson was the one who had figured out the Prophet’s mumbled words and explained what they meant. She and her committee—the Reverend Loomis, Mayor Orville Milton, Police Chief Ralph Gurney, and a few others—were the most important people in the town. Officer Gurney raised the yellow tape so Mrs. Beeson could duck under it. She stood before the window a long time, her back to the crowd, while everyone waited to see what she would say. Clouds sailed slowly across the sun, turning everything dark and light and dark again. To Grover, it seemed like ages they all stood there, holding their breath. He resigned himself to being late for school and started thinking up creative excuses. The front door of his house had stuck and he couldn’t get it open? His father needed him to help fish drowned rats out of flooded basements? His knee had popped out of joint and stayed out for half an hour? Finally Mrs. Beeson turned to face them. “Well, it just goes to show,” she said. “We never used to have people breaking windows and stealing things. For all our hard work, we’ve still got bad eggs among us.” She gave an exasperated sigh, and her breath made a puff of fog in the chilly air. “If this is someone’s idea of fun, that person should be very, very ashamed of himself. This is no time for wild, stupid behavior.” “It’s probably kids,” said a man standing near Grover. Why did people always blame kids for things like this? As far as Grover could tell, grown-ups caused a lot more trouble in the world than kids. “On the other hand,” said Mrs. Beeson, “it could be a threat, or a warning. We’ve heard the reports about someone wandering around in the hills.” She glanced back at the bloody rag hanging in the window. “It might even be a message of some sort. It looks to me like that stain could be a letter, maybe an S, or an R.” Grover squinted at the stain on the cloth. To him it looked more like an A, or maybe even just a random blotch. “It might be a B,” said someone standing near him. “Or an H,” said someone else. Mrs. Beeson nodded. “Could be,” she said. “The S could stand for sin. Or if it’s an R it could stand for ruin. If you’ll let me have that piece of cloth, Ralph, I’ll show it to Althea and see if she has anything to say about it.” Just then Wayne Hollister happened to pass by, saw the crowd, and chimed in about what he’d seen in the night. His story frightened people even more than the blood and the broken glass. All around him, Grover heard them murmuring: Someone’s out there. He’s given us a warning. What does he mean to do? He’s trying to scare us. One woman began to cry. Hoyt McCoy, as usual, said that Brenda Beeson should not pronounce upon things until she was in full possession of the facts, which she was not, and that to him the

blotches of blood looked more like a soupspoon than an R. Several people told him angrily to be quiet.

His brown corduroy jacket was so old that its ridges had flattened out.

And you, Mackie,” said the doctor. “It’s been a long time.

Every time she thought about him, she felt a thud of pain, like a bruised place inside her.

Beeson, wearing a rain jacket with the hood up over her