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Middle Grade Quotes

Browse 280 quotes about Middle Grade.

Middle Grade Quotes

“How did you get into the castle, Alexandre, son of Gilles Smith?” Sand shrugged. “A saint kidnapped me from his shrine and put me into a fireplace here. So I guess the answer is, a miracle of Saint Melor. Or so I think. He has not told me.” “If you are trying to antagonize him, you are doing a good job,” Perrotte whispered. Sand scuffed his shoe at her. “I’m just telling the truth!” “You’re very good at telling it in the most maddening way possible.” “Thank you?”

“With the help of Creator, our grandfather sun and grandmother moon agreed to work together with our mother, the earth, to create life. Then other beings of Creation were placed on the earth and in the sky. We, humans, Anishnaabe, were the last to be placed here. This is why we refer to ourselves as the younger brothers and sisters to the rest of beings in Creation.”

“It dawns on me that this is probably the first time I've hugged my dad since he moved out, which just makes me hug harder, and suddenly there's so much I want to ask him - like: Wasn't there some way he and Mom could have worked it out and did he miss me before I came to live with him and does he still love me even though he hates Mom now? But I don't ask him any of that because if I did, then I'd definitely start crying and I may not be able to stop - ever. So I just keep hugging.”

“We should not judge by appearances,” thought Stella. “Time shows us who we can trust. Then, folks show us their true natures. There’s nothing worse than false friends who lead us by the hand into all kinds of dangers. They have two sides—one light, one dark. Nothing’s unusual about that. But false friends take us from our true paths. I’d rather have honest enemies or rivals. They challenge us and shape us. They help us more than they know. They give us courage—something to go against.”

“If blending in was an Olympic sport, Justin Monaghetti would have won gold. He took comfort from this. Even at primary school, when kids called him names, they tended to go with ‘Justin Mona-spaghetti’, or other equally idiotic options. They never made fun of his face though – it had, as far as he could tell, no distinguishing features.”

“Fourteen-year-old Connor Hansen raced at full speed through the shiny, sterile emergency room hallways of Westley Hospital. He was excited ... and terrified. He was about to do what he had been training for almost his entire life. But if he failed, someone would die. Paramedics rushed toward him, pushing a bright-yellow gurney that carried a bloodied, lifeless man whose heart had stopped beating. It was Connor's job to get the man's heart started again. Connor was a doctor.”

“I’ve seen middle grade books criticized by adult readers for leaving things for the reader to figure out, for not having perfect happily-ever-after endings. They get knocked for being too depressing, for using too many big words, for featuring parental characters who are too clueless. Girl protagonists are “too angry” or “too self-absorbed.” The issues raised are “too heavy,” the books “too earnest,” “too quiet,” “too hard,” “too far-reaching,” “too strange,” and it is all too too much for the reader. Except it’s never the readers themselves saying these things. Our critical discourse in middle grade is sometimes much more about what the reviewer believes children’s books should be rather than about engaging with the book itself and the literature as a whole. When we say a book is “too sad,” “too scary,” “too complicated;” when we demand that endings are perfectly happy and all tied up; when we demand that the themes not be too weighty or the characters not face too much hardship; we are projecting our own biases onto the book, and using them to prescribe what books for this age range can or cannot do. This is nannying, not literary criticism—and it doesn’t give kids much credit.”

“Via the power of the swamplands I cast a double-decker Gris-Gris on my pirogue, to give Ol’ Alfonse a VERY, Very Nasty bellyache.” “Hey now Cricket,” How-Ya-Do scolded, “you better watch-out playing around with them Voodoo spells.” “Says who,” Cricket countered combatively. “You know you ain’t supposed to Conja no Gris-Gris. You be just “a little Cajun-girl,” not a Voodoo Priestess, like Madame Teche” How-Ya-Do reminded her, “what are you gonna do if that Gris-Gris bounces off of a tree `n whammies somebody-else by mistake?”

“Is it...can we...is it safe?" Tub checked the lot but he seemed unconcerned. "Coach Lawrence nabbed him for practice. We live to fight another day, soldier." "No...I mean, the thing...is it...?" Tub frowned. "The thing. Hmmm. Can you be more specific? I clutched at the bumper and raised myself to unsteady feet. I patted the truck bed, taking solace in the cake of dust. It was real; I was not caught in a nightmare. I smeared the dust with my fingers and smelled it. "If you lick that, we're no longer friends," Tub said.”

“I'm serious, Jim. You need to put this crap away. You walk into school on Monday talking to me, or anyone else, about the city's pesky troll problem, and you're not exactly going to get a lot of people saying, 'Gee, thanks for the warning.' It'll spread faster than mono. You think things are tough for us now? Jim, this will be the end. I'm sorry if you had a crazy nightmare. I really am. But I can't let you ruin our lives.”

“Having fun?” said George. “Yes, Mr Lane,” said Dinkesh. “Kenny has just flown out of the window.” “That’s nice,” said George, banishing from his mind the thought that children as young as Kenny and Dinkesh would be daft enough to take drugs in their bedrooms.”

“When you say fair, Samantha,” said Mr Green through a peculiar smile, “do you mean one of those travelling fleets of vehicles that arrive and set up things like spinning Waltzers and Big Wheels and all manner of machines that whizz people around in circles and up and down and from side to side? Machines that could...” Mr Green turned away and his unnatural smile became even more unsettling... “easily go wrong!”