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Quote by Holly Black

“His smile dimmed, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. 'This is a real secret. You can't tell anyone. When I was little, I glamoured my mortal sister. I made her hit herself, a lot of times, over and over, and I laughed while she did. It was awful of me, and I never told her that I regretted it. I am afraid of making her remember. She might get really mad.”

Quote by Holly Black

Book:The Stolen Heir
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The Stolen Heir

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Author

Holly Black
Holly Black

Holly Black, born on November 10, 1971, is a renowned fantasy fiction writer from the United States. Her works are known for their unique imagination and profound emotional depth, which have won her a large fan base. more

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Book:Kaleidoscope: Short Story by Ray Bradbury
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“I scrubbed at my face. Perhaps it was the quiet, the hollowness of the past few days- perhaps it was only that I no longer had to think hour to hour about how to keep my family alive, but... it was regret, and maybe shame, that coated my tongue, my bones. I shuddered, as if I could fling it off, and kicked back the sheets to rise from the bed.”

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“Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life? Forsaking everything I'd known--home, family, friends, and the security of being a part of a community regardless of how dysfunctional? I didn't care about losing the privilege of being a soldier in God's End-Time Army, but I did wonder if they might be right about Hell. I wondered if freedom was really worth all this uncertainty and the what-ifs.”

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Book:Uncultured: A Memoir
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“I was there long before you were born, he wanted to say. I've known this kanamaluka [River Tamar] longer than I've known your mother. And as he cast around for what that meant, how important his connection to the river was, his mind snagged on the little boat he'd once owned. How he'd freed it from a prison of thick lead paint. He wanted to tell is daughters about the glory he'd restored it to. How intoxicating the sight of it had been. How the scent of its timber had put him under a spell he had never truly recovered from. What discovering Huon pine does to a person. How it had rode the river so cleanly, so joyously, like a wish come true. How short his time with it was, how hard the summer had been, how he'd sold the boat to a rich little man, a stranger whose name he soon forgot. How it never carried him to the river mouth. I didn't get to go back, he wanted to tell his daughters. I didn't get to return to the place my father took us, your uncles and me, where the mad whale - do you remember the mad whale, do you remember the stories, did anyone ever tell you? - raised its twelve-foot tail above our borrowed boat, hiding the moon's light, poised to smash us into red flotsam. Only it didn't, he wanted to say. It could've, but it didn't. With colossal gentleness it lowered its flukes into the water beside us. Loosed a spray of vapour from its blowhole. Rolled onto its back and exposed to us the creamy striations of its belly. Twisted through the water so that the hugeness of its eye was close to us, a couple of yards from the boat. An eye shockingly familiar in its mammalian warmth. An eye filled with starlight: an eye lit by a half-dark heaven. (p.199)”

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Book:Limberlost
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