I have terrible nightmares, you know. Every night when I come home from a long dayโs dying, I take off my skin and lay it nicely on my armoire. I take off my bones and hang them up on the hatstand. I set my scythe to washing on the old stove. I eat a nice supper of mouse-and-myrrh soup. Some nights I drink off a nice red wine. White does not agree with me. I lay myself down on a bed of lilies and still, I cannot sleep.
Catherynne M. ValenteIt is well known that reading quickens the growth of a heart like nothing else.
Catherynne M. ValenteHearts set about finding other hearts the moment they are born, and between them, they weave nets so frightfully strong and tight that you end up bound forever in hopeless knots, even to the shadow of a beast you knew and loved long ago.
Catherynne M. ValenteIt was at thirteen years old that Marya Morevna learned how to keep a secret, and that secrets are jealous things, permitting no fraternization.
Catherynne M. ValenteChyertiโthatโs us, demons and devils, small and bigโare compulsive. We obsess. Itโs our nature. We turn on a track, around and around; we march in step; we act out the same tales, over and over, the same sets of motions, while time piles up like yarn under a wheel. We like patterns. Theyโre comforting. Sometimes little things changeโa car instead of a house, a girl not named Yelena. But itโs no different, not really. Not ever.
Catherynne M. Valente