Room Emma Donoghue Quotes

Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing.

Everybody's damaged by something.

People don't always want to be with people. It gets tiring.

If I was made of cake I'd eat myself before somebody else could.

Stories are a different kind of true.

When I was a little kid I thought like a little kid, but now I'm five I know everything

In the world I notice persons are nearly always stressed and have no time...I don't know how persons with jobs do the jobs and all the living as well...I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter all over the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit.

I've seen the world and I'm tired now.

I think buddy is man talk for sweetie.

Goodbye, Room." I wave up at Skylight. "Say goodbye," I tell Ma. "Goodbye, Room." Ma says it but on mute. I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened. Then we go out the door.

People move around so much in the world, things get lost.

Sometimes when persons say definitely it sounds actually less true.

Everyone's got a different story.

The world is always changing brightness and hotness and soundness, I never know how it's going to be the next minute.

This is a bad story.” “Sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.” “No, you should,” I say. “But—” “I don’t want there to be bad stories and me not know them.

It’s called mind over matter. If we don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” When a bit of me hurts, I always mind.

I remember manners, that's when people are scared to make other persons mad.

When I tell her what I’m thinking and she tells me what she’s thinking, our each ideas jumping into the other’s head, like coulouring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.

A lot of the world seems to repeat itself

I think about Old Nick carrying me into the truck, I'm dizzy like I'm going to fall down. "Scared is what you're feeling," says Ma, "but brave is what you're doing." "Huh?" "Scaredybrave." "Scave." Word sandwiches always make her laugh but I wasn't being funny.

I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened.

You know who you belong to, Jack?” “Yeah.” “Yourself.” He’s wrong, actually, I belong to Ma.

There's not a thing wrong with you, you're right the whole way through.

Me and Ma have a deal, we're going to try everything one time so we know what we like.

Maybe I’m a human, but I’m a me-and-Ma as well.

[E]verywhere I'm looking at kids, adults mostly don't seem to like them, not even the parents do. They call the kids gorgeous and so cute, they make the kids do the thing all over again so they can take a photo, but they don't want to actually play with them, they'd rather drink coffee talking to other adults. Sometimes there's a small kid crying and the Ma of it doesn't even hear.

Ma's still nodding. "You're the one who matters, though. Just you." I shake my head till it's wobbling because there's no just me.

When I was four I thought everything in TV was just TV, then I was five and Ma unlied about lots of it being pictures of real and Outside being totally real. Now I’m in Outside but it turns out lots of it isn’t real at all.

I don’t know why hurting means getting better.

I bang my head on a faucet. “Careful.” Why do persons only say that after the hurt?

It's weird to have something that's mine-not-Ma's. Everything else is both of ours. I guess my body is mine and the ideas that happen in my head. But my cells are made out of her cells so I'm kind of hers.

Are stories true? ... They're magic, they're not about real people walking around today. So they're fake? No, no. Stories are a different kind of true.

Outside has everything. Whenever I think of a thing now like skis or fireworks or islands or elevators or yo-yos, I have to remember they're real, they're actually happening in Outside all together. It makes my head tired. And people too, firefighters teachers burglars babies saints soccer players and all sorts, they're all really in Outside. I'm not there, though, me and Ma, we're the only ones not there. Are we still real?

She gets sick of things fast, it’s from being an adult.

But no, I used all my brave up.

Vitamins are medicine for not getting sick and going back to Heaven yet.

[...] You’re not afraid of monsters, are you?” It depends on the monster, if it’s a real one or not and if it’s where I am.

He [Ma's Tooth] was part of her a minute ago but now he's not. Just a thing.

...everyone goes home in the end.

I’ve been in the world three weeks and a half, I still never know what’s going to hurt.

I don't like a clever toilet looking at our butts.

I watch his hands, they're lumpy but clever. "Is there a word for adults when they aren't parents?" Steppa laughs. "Folks with other things to do?

When Jack just rescued her Ma's, just succeeded doing the Great Escape: "Want to go to Bed." "They'll find us somewhere to sleep in a little while." "No. Bed." "You mean in Room?" Ma's pulled back, she's staring in my eyes. "Yeah. I've seen the world and I'm tired now.

Somewhere between good and bad - bits of both stuck together." Ma

It's all real in Outside, everything there is, because I saw an airplane in the blue between the clouds. Ma and me can't go there because we don't know the secret code, but it's real all the same. Before I didn't know to be mad that we can't open Door, my head was too small to have Outside in it.

Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing.

No, I mean everything feels different, but it’s because I’m different.

coffee’s the most important thing they sell because most of us need it to keep us going, like gas in the car.

In Room me and Ma had time for everything. I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter all over the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit....

I thought humans were or weren't, I didn't know someone could be a bit human. Then what are his other bits?

I’ll be in Heaven getting your room ready.

So they're fake?" "No, no. Stories are a different kind of true.

In the world I notice persons are nearly always stressed and have no time. Even Grandma often says that, but she and Steppa don't have jobs, so I don't know how persons with jobs do the jobs and all the living as well. In Room me and Ma had time for everything. I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter over all the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit. Also everywhere I'm looking at kids, adults mostly don't seem to like them, not even the parents do. They call the kids gorgeous and so cute, they make the kids do the thing all over again so they can take a photo, but they don't want to actually play with them, they'd rather drink coffee talking to other adults. Sometimes there's a small kid crying and the Ma of it doesn't even hear.

Actually, Saint Peter was in jail, one time --" I laugh. "Babies don't go in jail." "This happened when they were all grown up." I didn't know Baby Jesus grows up.

Jack. He'd never give us a phone, or a window. "Ma takes my thumbs and squeezes them. "We are people in a book, and he wont let anybody else read it.

I was tired,” she says. “I made a mistake.” “You’re not tired anymore?” She doesn’t say anything. Then she says, “I am. But it’s OK.

Lots of the world seems to be a repeat.

I think she was too tired to play anymore, she was in a hurry to get to Heaven so she didn't wait, why didn't she wait for me?

What started Baby Jesus growing in Mary's tummy was an angel zoomed down, like a ghost but a really cool one with feathers. Mary was all surprised, she said, "How can this be?" and then, "OK let it be." When Baby Jesus popped out of her vagina on Christmas she put him in a manger but not for the cows to chew, only to warm him up with their blowing because he was magic.

But I go back down near the water with Steppa to look for treasure. We find a white shell like a snail, but when I curl my finger inside, he's gone out. "Keep it," say Steppa. "But what about when he comes home?

I chop the broccoli into pieces with ZigZag Knife, sometimes I swallow some when Ma's not looking and she says, "Oh, no, where's that big bit gone?" but she's not really mad because raw things make us extra alive.

I'd love to watch TV all the time, but it rots our brains. Before I came down from Heaven Ma left it on all day long and got turned into a zombie that's like a ghost but walks 'thump thump.' So now she always switches off after one show, then the cells multiply again in the day and we can watch another show after dinner and grow more brains in our sleep.

We're standing on the deck that's all wooden like the deck of a ship. There's fuzz on it, little bundles. Grandma says it's some kind of pollen from a tree. "Which one?" I'm staring up at all the differents. "Can't help you there, I'm afraid." In Room we knowed what everything was called but in the world there's so much, persons don't even know the names.

Me acuerdo de ser educado, que es cuando la gente tiene miedo de que los otros se enfaden.

In Room I was safe and Outside is the scary.

It's called mind over matter. If we don't mind, it doesn't matter.

A mí en cambio, cuando algo me gusta, me gusta siempre; como me pasa con las chocolatinas, que nunca me canso de comerlas

I think the sea’s just rain and salt.” “Ever taste a tear?” asks Grandma. “Yeah.” “Well, that’s the same as the sea.” I still don’t want to walk in it if it’s tears.

You must feel an almost pathological need—understandably—to stand guard between your son and the world.” “Yeah, it’s called being a mother.” Ma nearly snarls it.

That's tree persons in the room now and two of us, that equals five, it's nearly full of arms and legs and chests. They're all saying till I hurt. "Stop all saying at the same time.

But for me, Room is a peculiar (and no doubt heretical) battle between Mary and the Devil for young Jesus. If God sounds absent from that triangle, that’s because I think that for a small child, God’s love is represented, and proved, by mother-love.

Also everywhere I'm looking at kids, adults mostly don't seem to like them, not even the parents do. They call the kids gorgeous and so cute, they make the kids do the thing all over again so they can take a photo, but they don't want to actually play with them, they'd rather drink coffee talking to other adults. Sometimes there's a small kid crying and the Ma of it doesn't even hear.

A veces estaría bien volver a hacerse pequeño y a veces grande, igual que Alicia.

Houses are like lots of Rooms stuck together, TV persons stay in them mostly but sometimes they go in their outsides and weather happens to them.

— ¿Por qué se ha reído de que sepa todas las palabras, si yo no lo decía en broma?— le pregunto a mamá. — Ah, qué más da, siempre es bueno hacer reír a la gente

Ma knows everything except the things she doesn’t remember right, or sometimes she says I’m too young for her to explain a thing.

Careful.” Why do persons only say that after the hurt? Grandma

Now I feel bad I didn’t give her the second quarter. Grandma says that’s called having a conscience.

Ma’s in Room still, I want her here so much much much.

the paper

She's asleep, she can´t be mad in her sleep, can she?

It's weird to have something that's mine-not-Ma's. Everything else is both of ours. I guess my body is mine and the ideas that happen in my head. But my cells are made out of her cells so I'm kind of hers. Also when I tell her what I'm thinking and she tells me what she's thinking, our each ideas jump into our other's head, like coloring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.

Want to go to Bed." "They'll find us somewhere to sleep in a little while." "No. Bed." "You mean in Room?" Ma's pulled back, she's staring in my eyes. "Yeah. I've seen the world and I'm tired now.

Adults could be barefaced liars too, of course, and about no subject so much as their own bodies. In Lib's experience, those who wouldn't cheat a shopkeeper by a farthing would lie about how much brandy they drank or whose room they'd entered and what they'd done there. Girls bursting out of their stays denied their condition till the pangs gripped them. Husbands swore blind that their wives' smashed faces were none of their doing. Everybody was a repository of secrets.

When I was four I was watching ants walking up Stove and she ran and splatted them all so they wouldn’t eat our food. One minute they were alive and the next minute they were dirt. I cried so my eyes nearly melted off.

No sabía que las cosas pudieran estar vivas a medias. Aunque tampoco sabía que los retratos tuvieran vida dentro.

They’re her book club but I don’t know why because they’re not reading books.

All I think when I look at you is hallelujah

I pray for John the Baptist and Baby Jesus to come around for a playdate with Dora and Boots.

[S]he takes a killer. Sometimes she takes two, never more than two, because some things are good for us but too much is suddenly bad.

Hmm? No, it’s a photo of all these streets. The camera’s way up in space.” “Outer Space?” “Yeah.” “Cool.” Officer Oh’s voice gets all excited. “Three four nine Washington, shed in the rear, lit skylight . . . Got to be.

Remember,” she says on the way to the white car, “we don’t hug strangers. Even nice ones.” “Why not?” “We just don’t, we save our hugs for people we love.” “I love that boy Walker.” “Jack, you never saw him before in your life.

Why are places to eat called coffee shops?” I ask him. “Well, coffee’s the most important thing they sell because most of us need it to keep us going, like gas in the car.” Ma only drinks water and milk and juice like me, I wonder what keeps her going. “What do kids have?” “Ah, kids are just full of beans.” Baked beans keep me going all right but green beans are my enemy food.

In the world I notice persons are nearly always stressed and have no time. Even Grandma often says that, but she and Steppa don't have jobs, so I don't know how persons with jobs do the jobs and all the living as well. In Room me and Ma had time for everything. I guess the time gets spread very thing like butter over all the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit.

— ¿Y cómo va a castigarnos? —No, quiero decir que ya lo está haciendo. Cortando la luz. —Ah, pero eso no es malo. Mamá se echa a reír. —¿Cómo que no? nos estamos helando, estamos comiendo verduras babosas... — Sí, pero pensaba que nos iba a castigar también a nosotros—trato de imaginar cómo —. si por ejemplo hubiera dos habitaciones, y me pusiera a mi en una y a ti en la otra

I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter over all the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit. Also everywhere I'm looking at kids, adults mostly don't seem to like them, not even the parents do. They call the kids gorgeous and so cute, they make the kids do the thing all over again so they can take a photo, but they don't want to actually play with them, they'd rather drink coffee talking to other adults.

Do you realize what a beacon you’ve become?” “A—I beg your pardon?” “A beacon of hope,” says the woman, smiling. “As soon as we announced we’d be doing this interview, our viewers started calling in, e-mails, text messages, telling us you’re an angel, a talisman of goodness . . .” Ma makes a face. “All I did was I survived, and I did a pretty good job of raising Jack. A good enough job.” “You’re very modest.” “No, what I am is irritated, actually.” The puffy-hair woman blinks twice. “All this reverential—I’m not a saint.” Ma’s voice is getting loud again. “I wish people would stop treating us like we’re the only ones who ever lived through something terrible. I’ve been finding stuff on the Internet you wouldn’t believe.” “Other cases like yours?” “Yeah, but not just—I mean, of course when I woke up in that shed, I thought nobody’d ever had it as bad as me. But the thing is, slavery’s not a new invention. And solitary confinement—did you know, in America we’ve got more than twenty-five thousand prisoners in isolation cells? Some of them for more than twenty years.” Her hand is pointing at the puffy-hair woman. “As for kids—there’s places where babies lie in orphanages five to a cot with pacifiers taped into their mouths, kids getting raped by Daddy every night, kids in prisons, whatever, making carpets till they go blind—

Bye-bye.” Walker flaps his hand up and down. I think I’ll give him a hug. I do it too fast and knock him down, he bangs on the train table and cries. “I’m so sorry,” Grandma keeps saying, “my grandson doesn’t — he’s learning about boundaries—” “No harm done,” says the first man. They go off with the little boy doing one two three whee swinging between them, he’s not crying anymore. Grandma watches them, she’s looking confused. “Remember,” she says on the way to the white car, “we don’t hug strangers. Even nice ones.” “Why not?” “We just don’t, we save our hugs for people we love.” “I love that boy Walker.” “Jack, you never saw him before in your life.

We go in a skyscraper that's Paul's office, he says he's crazy busy but he makes a Xerox of my hands and buys me a candy bar out of the vending machine. Going down in the elevator pressing the buttons, I play I'm actually inside a vending machine. We go in a bit of the government to get Grandma a new Social Security card because she lost the old one, we have to wait for years and years. Afterwards she takes me in a coffee shop where there's no green beans, I choose a cookie bigger than my face.

The Dora bag has straps, it’s like Backpack but with Dora on it instead of Backpack’s face. It has a handle too, when I try it pulls up, I think I broke it, but then it rolls, it’s a wheelie bag and a backpack at the same time, that’s magic. “You like it?” It’s Deana talking to me. “Would you like to keep your things in it?” “Maybe one that’s not pink,” says Paul to her. “What about this one, Jack, pretty cool or what?” He’s holding up a bag of Spider-Man. I give Dora a big hug. I think she whispers, Hola, Jack. Deana tries to take the Dora bag but I won’t let her. “It’s OK, I just have to pay the lady, you’ll get it back in two seconds…” It’s not two seconds, it’s thirty-seven.