Frances Hardinge Quotes
Brand a man as a thief and no one will ever hire him for honest labor - he will be a hardened robber within weeks. The brand does not reveal a person's nature, it shapes it.
You’re a peach full of poison, you know that?" Mosca snapped back, but could not quite keep a hint of admiration from her tone.
Where is your sense of patriotism?" I keep it hid away safe, along with my sense of trust, Mr. Clent. I don't use 'em much in case they get scratched.
Sometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp.
Push something in someone’s face, and they will shove it away reflexively. Threaten to snatch it away from them, and sometimes they become convinced that it is what they want.
No." Mosca bit her lip and shook her head firmly. Books no longer seemed quite enough. I don’t want a happy ending, I want more story.
It did seem hard to be doing something heroic while everyone was too busy to notice.
If you want someone to tell you what to think..." "You will never be short of people willing to do so.
Perhaps illnesses could be left behind, just like small, badly concealed china corpses.
It was hopeless. She was flawless. She was a sunbeam. Mosca gave up and got on with hating her.
You, sir, are a romantic, and I'm afraid the condition is incurable. -Eponymous Clent
Every time I do what you say I tumble a bit farther down this well of darkness, an' this here is a drop too deep an' too dark for me. I have to stop falling while I can still see a bit of the sky.
So this was a nest of radicals. She thought a hotbed of sedition would involve more gunpowder and secret handshakes, and less shuffling of feet and passing the sugar.
Making a wish is like saying, 'I can't deal with anything, I give up, somebody bigger come along and solve it all instead.
I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated . . .
Revenge is a dish best served unexpectedly and from a distance - like a thrown trifle.
Well, you will have to do. If you had died along with your mother, I would have taught the cat to read.
Everybody knew that books were dangerous. Read the wrong book, it was said, and the words crawled around your brain on black legs and drove you mad, wicked mad.
The world is like a broken wrist that healed the wrong way, and will never be the same again.
In Mosca’s experience, a ‘long story’ was always a short story someone did not want to tell.
I am anything I wish to be. The world cannot choose for me. No, it is for me to choose what the world shall be.
That," he whispered, "is unthinkable." In Mosca’s experience, such statements generally meant that a thing was perfectly thinkable, but that the speaker did not want to think it.
My mother is not evil, Faith reminded herself. She is just a perfectly sensible snake, protecting her eggs and making her way in the world as best she can.
For a tiny instant Faith wondered whether it would benefit the doctor's investigation if he experienced a cliff fall first-hand.
This is a battlefield, Faith! Women find themselves on battlefields, just as men do. We are given no weapons, and cannot be seen to fight. But fight we must, or perish.
Faith had always told herself that she was not like other ladies. But neither, it seemed, were other ladies.
It could be kindness. Faith felt hollow at the thought. She had needed kindness before, and has received none. Now it was too late, and she did not know what to do with it.
She had needed kindness before, and had received none. Now it was too late, and she did not know what to do with it.
People were animals, and animals were nothing but teeth. You bit first, and you bit often, That was the only way to survive.
Somehow the sting of guilt was always more acute when there was a risk that she might get caught.
Zeal was like gas, most dangerous when you could not see it. The wrong spark could light it at any time.