Top 242 Quotes & Sayings by Patrick Ness - Page 3

So the good prince was a murderer and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all.

Stories don’t end with the writers, however many started the race.

There's always beauty, if you know where to look.

He was still alive. Which was the worst thing that could have happened.

You be as angry as you need to be,” she said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your grandma, not your dad, no one. And if you need to break things, then by God, you break them good and hard.

Here is the boy, drowning.

We all fall but that's not what matters. What matters is picking yourself up again.

Librarians open up the world. Knowledge is useless if you don't even know where to begin to look. How much more can you discover when someone can point you in the right direction, when someone can maybe even give you a treasure map, to places you may not have even thought you were allowed to go? This is what librarians do.

You tell a man the truth about himself and, well, they find they have trouble accepting it.

Conor held tightly onto his mother. And by doing so, he could finally let her go.

Midnight passes and I'm twenty-five days and a million years from becoming a man.

Everything that's happened has brought me here, to this place, with this knife in my hand, and something worth saving.

And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.

When luck ain't with you it's against you." ~pg 92

But,' he thinks, 'it's possible to die before you die.

What a sad thing men are. Can’t do nothing good without being so weak we have to mess it up. Can’t build something up without tearing it down.

Didn't you finish your chemistry in school?" "You closed the school and burnt all the books." "Ah, so I did.

The green things of this world are just wondrous, aren’t they?” his mother went on. “We work so hard to get rid of them when sometimes they’re the very thing that saves us.

We have to lie to ourselves to live. Otherwise, we'd go crazy.

And it hurts her, but it's an okay hurt, but it hurts still, but it's good, but it hurts.

Guessing a thing ain't knowing a thing.

Why can't we learn to live with how we are? And whatever anybody chooses is okay by the rest of us?

Life ain't fair. It ain't. Not never. It's pointless and stupid and there's only suffering and pain and people who want to hurt you. You can't love nothing or no one cuz it'll all be taken away or ruined and you'll be left alone and constantly having to fight, constantly having to run just to stay alive.

War is like a monster," he says, almost to himself. "War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows." He's looking at me now. "And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.

Because he KNEW he was doing wrong. He felt the PAIN of his actions'-- 'But he did not amen them,' shows the Sky. 'The rest are worth as much as their pack animals,' I show, 'but worst is the one who knows better and does NOTHING.

Life equals running and when we stop running maybe that's how we'll know life is finally finished.

I remember the ache I used to feel when she got too close, how it felt like grief, how it felt like a loss, like I was falling, falling into nothing, how it clenched me up and made me want to weep, made me actually weep.

Men do monstrous things but if you call a man a monster you have absolved yourself of blame. You don't have to think that you might ever do these things. I don't think that's true

It is a true story, the monster said. Many things that are true feel like a cheat.

Like how stars might sound. Or moons But not mountains. Too floaty for mountains. It's a sound like one planet singing to another, high stretched and full of different voices starting at different notes and sloping down to other different notes but all weaving together in a rope of sound that's sad but not sad and slow but not slow and all singing one word. One word.

It's always nice when two people who don't got no one else find each other as friends.

Viola? Keep calling for me– And I’ll keep searching for you– And I’ll find you– You bet yer life on it– I’ll find you– Keep calling for me, Viola– Cuz here I come.

If the world wants you, it's gonna keep on coming till it gets you. And who am I that can fix it? Who am I that can change this if the world wants it so badly? Who am I to stop the end of the world if it keeps on coming?

Nobody has to tell nobody nothing,” I say, taking another step forward. “You never were a poet, were you, Todd?” he says.

Sometimes witches merit saving. Quite often, actually. You'd be surprised.

No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors. You accept things that would appall you at any other time because life has temporarily lost all meaning.

Time goes on, even when yer not looking.

And then his noise falls completely silent- And he stops struggling- And looking right into my eyes- He dies. My Todd dies.

As long as I hold it as long as I use it, the knife lives, lives in order to take life, but it has to be commanded, it has to have me to tell it to kill, and it wants to, it wants to plunge and thrust and cut and stab and gouge, but I have to want it to as well, my will has to join with its will. I'm the one who allows it and I'm the one responsible.

That's what librarians do. They open up the world. Because knowledge is useless if you don’t know how to find it, if you don’t even know where to begin to look.

Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.

So who are you then, Todd Hewitt?" he says. "What makes you so special?" Now that, I think, is a very good asking.

Her accent's funny, different from mine, different from anyone in Prentisstown's. Her lips make different kinds of outlines for the letters, like they're swooping down on them from above, pushing them into shape, telling them what to say. In Prentisstown, everyone talks like they're sneaking up on their words, ready to club them from behind.

I'll find you- Keep calling for me, Viola- Cuz here I come.

War makes monsters out of men.

Men lie, and they lie to theirselves worst of all.

Conor was no longer invisible. They all saw him now. But he was further away than ever.

As destruction goes, the monster said behind him, this is all remarkably pitiful.

A monster, I think, remembering what Ben told me once. War makes Monsters of Men.

Girls are small and polite and smiley. They wear dresses and their hair is long and it’s pulled into shapes behind their heads or on either side.

You went up a girl and came down a woman.

There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.

I just stand there like a doofus wondering just what in the effing blazes is going on.

"You can eff off, too," I say, except I don't say eff, I say what 'eff' stands for.

Because I'm not blind to how Harry works, you know," she said. "A bully with a charisma and top marks is still a bully." She sighed, annoyed. "He'll probably end up Prime Minister one day. God help us all.

Belief is half of all healing. Belief in the cure, belief in the future that awaits.

And it feels like, finally.

As to how you'll help me," he says. "Well, we have met the Answer, have we not?" He turns back to look at us, his eyes glinting. "It's time for them to meet the Ask.

There's hope at the bottom of the biggest waterfall." ~pg 426

This is what war does. Right here, in my hands. This is war.