Caroline B. Cooney Famous Quotes
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I decided to write short stories because they got rejected quicker.
My favorite book is always the one I'm working on at the moment.
What more can life hold, than to know that because of your story, somebody out there has decided to read again!
I believe my readers are crazy about their parents and want to be just like them when they grow up.
But I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found the way home.
wanted is a good action book
Who was Florinda, and why did she faint so often that she needed a special couch on which to do it?
The sea can smack the rocks like a hand smacking a cheek. It can hiss or gurgle or even kiss. But when it wants, it can go quiet. 'And then', said Anya Rothrock, 'you can hear the voices of the drowned'.
She had never had a daydream that dreamed itself, like nightmares. That crawled out of her brain like a creature of the dark. A daymare.
I'm one of the lucky writers: plots come easily to me.
She had spent the summer forgetting to be English--and Tannhahorens had spent the summer forgetting the same thing.
She was a mind floating in an ocean of confusion.
Breakfast was only worth having when somebody else made it for you.
I thought of the parable of the prodigal son. We had made merry for the beloved child's return too - but what happens when the beloved child doesn't say she's sorry? The parable doesn't talk about that. Jesus figures of course you're sorry. Jesus, I thought, you blew it. Not everybody is sorry.
Don't they look like ancient island princesses, marked out for sacrifice? Sent away for the sake of the islanders, to be given to the sea?
Kahnawake
November 1704
Temperature 44 degrees
"They won't let you see her," said Ruth flatly. "Now tell us, Mr. Williams, why has ransom not come? Do people have short memories or no memory? Why do they not rescue us? I get so angry sometimes."
Sometimes! thought Mercy.
I'll take you to Mickey D's," said Sean. "I'll buy you a hamburger."
Annie was not thrilled. Sean's offer did not compare to offers made in other centuries.
"And fries," Sean said. "And a vanilla milkshake."
Annie remained unthrilled.
"Okay, okay. You can have a Big Mac."
Romance in my century, she thought, is pitiful.
Lying on the front passenger seat, as if it didn't matter, was Rose's Diary.
It Mattered.
But sometimes, in tight corners, when your back is against the wall and the world is against you, you have to fight back in unexpected ways.
Actually my first eight books were historical novels, but they were never published.
Strat yearned to imagine her without even the thin white dress, but it would not be honorable, so he prevented himself from having such a fantasy.
If she dreamed, she did not remember when she awoke.
She had gradually changed her name. "Jane" was too dull. Last year, she'd added a "y", becoming Jayne, which had more personality.
People nearly always believe, and are willing to back it up with weapons and cruelty, that their religion and way of life is better than the other person's.
I believe my voice is pretty much the same. I've written 75 books, so I'm better at it now than I was earlier in my career.
How can you be somebody else's savior, when you can't be your own?
What would she have? Coke, said Annie. And when she tasted the familiar drink, how much less scary the world was, and how much less frightening her task.
Fall in love with me, Gary! She thought. Please. Please sit here holding me and think there's nowhere on earth I'd rather be than here, and no girl I'd rather have in my lap than Beth Rose Chapman!
Montreal
October 1704
Temperature 55 degrees
Eben was looking at Sarah in the way every girl prays some boy will one day look at her. "I will marry you, Sarah," said Eben. "I will be a good husband. A Puritan husband. Who will one day take us both back home."
Wind shifted the lace of Sarah's gown and the auburn of one loose curl.
"I love you, Sarah," said Eben. "I've always loved you."
Tears came to Sarah's eyes: she who had not wept over her own family. She stood as if it had not occurred to her that she could be loved; that an English boy could adore her. "Oh, Eben!" she whispered. "Oh, yes, oh, thank you, I will marry you. But will they let us, Eben? We will need permission."
"I'll ask my father," said Eben. "I'll ask Father Meriel."
They were not touching. They were yearning to touch, they were leaning forward, but they were holding back. Because it is wrong? wondered Mercy. Or because they know they will never get permission?
"My French family will put up a terrible fuss," said Sarah anxiously. "Pierre might even summon his fellow officers and do something violent."
Eben grinned. "Not if I have Huron warriors behind me."
The Indians rather enjoyed being French allies one day and difficult neighbors the next. Lorette Indians might find this a fine way to stab a French soldier in the back without drawing blood.
They would need Father Meriel. He could arrange anything if he chose; he had power among all the p
I get letters from readers who say that they have always hated reading, but somebody suggested one of my books, they actually finished the book and enjoyed it, and they're going on to read another book. I'm thrilled that they have figured out that reading is fun.
She wanted love, adventure, and wild, fierce emotions that would batter her, as storms battered the island. I am thirteen, Christina thought, I am ready. I want it all.
It wasn't that she stopped being nice; she stopped being anything
It's been one nightmare after another, Christina thought. Pretty soon I won't be able to keep track of them all.
I actually thought you would be kind," said the vampire.
"Go away!" screamed Devnee.
He did not answer.
"I didn't have to be kind," Devnee told him. "Victoria was kind for me."
He laughed.
"No one can be kind for you, my dear," said the vampire. "But I don't mind, of course. I have you now. There's no escape, my dear. You and I, Devnee Fountain, are a team.
I love writing and do not know why it is considered such a difficult, agonizing profession.
Bianca and Mindy crept into the room like great big fashionable mice.
When in doubt, shut up.
She had a sense of herself being brain dead: running on tubes and machines.
I approach serious subjects, and I like to have the good guys win and have the parents among the good guys.
It was like crawling on glass. No matter how firmly she resolved not to think such stupid things, she thought them.
I wonder why we always deny love. I remember in middle school, if you were accused of the crime of loving, you screamed denials constantly and stopped ever even looking at the boy you were accused of liking. The boys could destroy each other by yodeling, "An-drew lo-oves Jen-nie," and both Andrew and Jennie would flinch and blush. Love is this great thing that most songs and books and poems and lives are all about. So the minute we actually think there might be love around, we start laughing and pretending and hiding from it.