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Valerian Quotes

Browse 12 quotes about Valerian.

Valerian Quotes

“Valerian and Locke look strange; their clothing moth-eaten, their skin pallid, and only inky smudges where their eyes ought to be. Nicasia doesn't seem to notice. Her sea-coloured hair hangs down her back in heavy coils; her lips are twisted in to a mocking smiles, as though nothing in the world is wrong. Cardan wears a bloodstained crown, tilted at an angle, the sharp planes of his face as hauntingly beautiful as ever.”

“With Nicasia by his side, Cardan drew others to him until he formed a malicious little foursome who prowled the isles of Elfhame looking for trouble. They unravelled precious tapestries and set fire to part of the Crooked Forest. They made their instructors at the palace school weep and made courtiers terrified to cross them. Valerian, who loved cruelty the way some Folk loved poetry. Locke, who had a whole empty house for them to run amok in, along with an endless appetite for merriment. Nicasia, whose contempt for the land made her eager to have all of Elfhame kiss her slipper. And Cardan, who modelled himself on his eldest brother and learned how to use his status to make Folk scrape and grovel and bow and beg, who delighted in being a villain. Villains were wonderful. They got to be cruel and selfish, to preen in front of mirrors and poison apples, and trap girls on mountains of glass. They indulged all their worst impulses, revenged themselves for the least offense, and took every last thing they wanted. And sure, they wound up in barrels studded with nails, or dancing in iron shoes heated by fire, not just dead, but disgraced and screaming. But before they got what was coming to them, they got to be the fairest in the land.”

“He'd like to make you believe he's our leader, but it's more than Nicasia likes power, I like dramatics, and Valerian likes violence. Cardan can provide us with all three, or at least excuses for all three.' 'Dramatics?' I echo. 'I like for things to happen, for stories to unfold. And if I can't find a good enough story, I make one.' He looks every inch the trickster in that moment.”

“Of course I want to be like them. They're beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. Valerian's hair shines like polished gold. Nicasia's limbs are long and perfectly shaped, her mouth the pink of coral, her hair the colour of the deepest, coldest part of the sea. Fox-eyed Locke, standing silently behind Valerian, his expression schooled to careful indifference, has a chin as pointed as the tips of his ears. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest, with black hair as iridescent as a raven's wing and cheekbones sharp enough to cut out a girl's heart. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.”

“Later when Cardan, Locke, Nicasia, and Valerian sit down to their lunch, they have to spit out their food in choking horror. All around them are the less awful children of faerie nobles, eating their bread and honey, their cakes and roasted pigeons, their elderflower jam with biscuits and cheese and the fat globes of grapes. But every single morsel in each of my enemies' baskets has been well and thoroughly salted. Cadan's gaze catches mine, and I can't help the evil smile that pulls up the corners of my mouth. His eyes are bright as coals, his hatred a living thing, shimmering in the air between us like the air above black rocks on a blazing summer day.”

“Cardan is wearing his usual scowl, accessorised with kohl under his eyes and a circlet of gold in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with a high, jagged collar, the whole thing stitched with a pattern of constellations. Valerian is in deep red, cabochon rubies sparkling on his cuffs, each like a drop of frozen blood. Nicasia's hair is the blue-green of the ocean, crowned with a diadem of pearls. A glittering cobweb net covers her braids. Locke brings up the rear, looking bored, his hair the precise colour of fox fur.”

“The human species pretends it's so resilient. Mortal lives are one long game of make-believe. If you couldn't lie to yourselves, you'd cut your own throats to end your misery.' I am struck by the word species, by the idea that he thinks I am something entirely else, like an ant or a dog or a deer. I am not sure he's wrong, but I don't like the thought. 'I don't feel particularly miserable right now.' I can't show him I'm afraid. His mouth curls. 'What happiness do you have? Rutting and breeding. You'd go mad if you accepted the truth of what you are. You are nothing. You barely exist at all. Your only purpose is to create more of your kind before you die some pointless and agonising death.' I look him in the eye. 'And?”