The storm ate up Septemberโs cry of despair, delighted at its mischief, as all storms are.
Catherynne M. ValenteWe like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.
Catherynne M. ValenteShe is so stubborn, her heart has an argument with her head every time it wants to beat.
Catherynne M. ValenteJust remember that the only question in a house is who is to rule. The rest is only dancing around that, trying not to look it in the eye.
Catherynne M. ValenteMarriage is a wrestling match where you hold on tight while your mate changes into a hundred different things. The trick is that you're changing into a hundred other things, but you can't let go. You can only try to match up and never turn into a wolf while he's a rabbit, or a mouse while he's still busy being an owl, a brawny black bull while he's a little blue crab scuttling for shelter. It's harder than it sounds.
Catherynne M. ValenteSuch lonely, lost things you find on your way. It would be easier, if you were the only one lost. But lost children always find each other, in the dark, in the cold. It is as though they are magnetized and can only attract their like. How I would like to lead you to brave, stalwart friends who would protect you and play games with dice and teach you delightful songs that have no sad endings. If you would only leave cages locked and turn away from unloved Wyverns, you could stay Heartless.
Catherynne M. Valente