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Quote by Holly Black

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The Cruel Prince

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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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“Tell Anne..." I broke off. There was too much to send in one message. There were long years of rivalry and then a forced unity and always and ever, underpinning our love for each other, our sense that the other must be bested. How could I send her one word which would acknowledge all of that, and yet tell her that I loved her still, that I was glad I had been her sister, even though I knew she had brought herself to this point and taken George here too? That, though I would never forgive her for what she had done to us all, at the same time, I totally and wholly understood? "Tell her what?" Catherine hovered, waiting to be released. "Tell her that I think of her," I said simply. "All the time. Every day. The same as always.”

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“Scratch me and you get grief. It will well up surreptitiously and slip away down any declivity, perhaps undermining the foundations but keeping a low profile and trying not to inconvenience anybody. Scratch my sister at your peril however, because you’ll get rage, a geyser of it, like hitting oil after drilling dry, hot rock for months and it suddenly, shockingly, plumes up into the sky, black and viscous, coating everything as it falls to earth. Take care when you scratch.”

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“You're not behaving the way I expected. I've done all the crying and screaming, and you've been so quiet." "I'm sure I'll cry eventually. Right now, though, I only feel rather ill and gray." "Should I be quiet too?" Pandora had asked. Cassandra had shaken her head. "No, not at all. It feels as if you're crying and screaming for me when I can't." Pandora had pressed her cheek against Cassandra's arm. "That's what sisters do.”

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“For, as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with words only, but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow.”

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