Jennifer Donnelly Quotes

It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.

There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.

Bravery is feeling fear but doing the thing anyway.

To love, to truly love another - that is not for the faint of heart. Why, I've seen a husband mop the brow of his plague-ridden wife, heedless of his own safety. I've seen a murderer's mother weep at the gallows, and a starving boy give his last crust of bread to his sister. Love is so strong, so ferocious, that she frightens even me. Me…

For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.

There were nights when I got nothing, [but] I still played. With no one to hear me and no one to pay me, and it did not matter.
On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They slipped over my tongue and spilled from my mouth. And because of them I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king.
It was dark and it was cold on those nights. The world was harsh and I was hungry. Yet I had such joy from the words. Such joy.
There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I.
The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness.
Be careful what you show the world.
You never know when the wolf is watching.

Go now, girl. Remake the world.

Revolutions come about when small things happen to small people.

Belle hesitated. "What is this place?" she asked.
"A bit of magic, like all good books," the man replied. "An escape. A place where you can leave cares and worries behind." He smiled. "At least for a chapter or two.

The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.

I need a name for this ink ... A name for the feeling you get when you see someone again. After many years. Someone lost to you. Or so you thought. And you remember them a certain way. In your mind, they never age. But then suddenly, there they are. Older. Changed by time. Different, but exactly the same.

You should spend more time reading the Good Book and less reading all those novels. What are you going to tell the Lord on Judgement Day when He asks you why you didn't read your bible? Hmm?
I will tell Him that His press agents could have done with a writing lesson or two, I said. To myself.

Your always look for the worst in people," said Love reproachfully.
"And I always find it," Death said.

Go round cringing like a dog, Matt," he said, "and folks will treat you like one. Stand up like a man, and they'll treat you like a man." That was fine for Weaver, but I wondered sometimes, How exactly do you stand up like a man when you're a girl?

Sera was beginning to see that love wasn't pretty words and easy promises. Love was hard. It challenged you and changed you. It filled your heart and sometimes hardened it too. Love demanded sacrifices. She'd made many over the last few weeks, and knew she would be called upon to make many more.

If I had coal and fire
And metal fine and true
I'd make an iron band
An iron band for you
I'd pick up all the pieces
From where they fell that day
Fit them back together
And take the pain away
But I don't have the iron
And I don't have the steel
To wrap around your broken heart
And teach it how to heal
Somewhere in the fire
Somewhere in the pain
I'd find the magic that I need
To make you whole again
I'd make the iron band so strong
I'd make it gleam so bright
I'd fix the things I've broken
I'd turn my wrongs to right
But I don't have the steel
To wrap around your broken heart
Wish I could make it heal
Wish I could make it heal
(Ch. 27)

Home's all the people, all the places, and all the things that you love. You carry it wherever you go.

It was a trick. It was this place, all the memories. His longing heart and the darkness conspiring. But his eyes told him it was no trick. He jumped down off the steps and walked toward her. Hoping. Fearing. He'd done this before. So many times. Caught sight of a slender black-haired woman and impulsively called to her, only to have her turn and gaze at him with eyes that were questioning, coldly polite, and never, ever hers.

And then I see them. In the glow of the flashlight, I see the corses. Stacks of them. Some are shriveled. Some are putrid. Most still have their clothes on. Not one has its head on. No. No way. No way! This can't be. Fresh dead people? They said the bodies were two hundred years old. This is bad. Really bad. We've got to call someone. Frontline. Nightline. Anderson Cooper.

Meet me where the sky touches the sea. Wait for me where the world begins.

I try to remember that hard knocks leave dents.

Voice is not just the sound that comes from your throat, but the feelings that come from your words.

Thousands of musical voices, like rain on water, beckoned.

You are a ghost, Andi," she says. "Almost gone."
I look at her. I want to say something but I can't get the words out.
She squeezes my hands. "Come back to us," she says. And she's gone.

Headstrong is just a word, Katie - a word others call you when you don't do what they want.

The skin-and-bones dog who shows up at your door. The broken-winged bird you nurse back to health. The kitten you find crying at the side of the road.
You think you're saving them, don't you?
Ah, child. Can't you see?
They're saving you.

There is only one thing I fear now-love. For I have seen it and I have felt it and I know that it is love, not death, that undoes us.

Good warrior knows when to lose a battle so she can live to fight the war.

If only she could be bold enough, and brave enough, to claim the things she wanted: love, a purpose, a life. But could she be?

If you wait for someone else to make things better, you'll be waiting a very long time

It's kind of beautiful, this scary world. I still want to go out of it as soon as possible, but when I look around and stop thinking about how insane it all is and just see it without freaking out, it's really beautiful.

Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.

Sadness enfolded her like a long black cape. p. 4

The feeling that you want to own someone body and soul, spirit them away from everyone else, have them all to yourself forever and ever and ever," Hugo said dreamily. "It's called love."
"No, it's called kidnapping," said Tavi.

Ambition and poverty are powerful motivators ...

There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.

Lots of things are impossible," she said softly. "Until they're not.

Reading became my sanctuary," Belle continued. "I found so much in those books. I found histories that inspired me. Poems that delighted me. Novels that challenged me…" Belle paused, suddenly self-conscious. She looked down at her hands, and in a wistful voice, said, "What I really found, though, was myself.

Maybe his quietness masked a great and boiling soul.

When you can write music that endures, bravo. Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.

And a good warrior knows when to lose a battle so she can live to fight the

Sometimes, when you catch someone unaware at just the right time and in just the right light, you can catch sight of what they will be.

We woke as if from a nightmare only to find that the ugly are still not beautiful and the dull still do not sparkle.

But here, surrounded by friends who wanted her, she recognized for the first time that there was only one voice that truly mattered. Only one she had to listen to. Her own.

Tell Crabby Abby he's going to sit on the naughty chair if he sinks one more island, Astrid said, catching her ball.

Serafina, Ava, Ling, and Becca swam inside. Neela followed them, but at the very last second, shield. "I can't," she said. "Once I go in, there's no way out again. This is real. You're real. All this time, a part of me was hoping you were only a dream."

The witch cocked her head. "Only a dream?" she said mockingly. "Long ago, a great mage dreamed of stealing the gods' powers. Abbadon was born of that dream. Atlantis died because of it. Now, because of a new dreamer, all the waters of the world may fall. There is nothing more real than a dream." She nodded at the waters behind Neela. Silt was rising in the distance, a great deal of it. "The merman Traho knows this. He's coming. If you do not believe me, perhaps he can convince you.

And Robespierre, the Incorruptible, who loved us so much he cut off our heads so we would not be troubled by too many thoughts.

Because nothing is more dangerous than hope

I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.

We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.

The driver's on me in an instant. She's crying and trembling. She grabs the front of my jacket and shakes me. "You crazy bitch!" she screams. "I could have killed you!"
"Sorry," I say
"Sorry?" she shouts. "You don't look sorry. You-"
"Sorry you missed," I say.
She lets go of me then. Takes a step back.

I don't know what I was hoping for. Some small praise, I guess. A bit of encouragement. I didn't get it. Miss Parrish took me aside one day after school let out. She said she'd read my stories and found them morbid and dispiriting. She said literature was meant to uplift the heart and that a young woman such as myself ought to turn her mind to topics more cheerful and inspiring than lonely hermits and dead children.

"Look around yourself, Mathilda," she said. "At the magnificence of nature. It should inspire joy and awe. Reverence. Respect. Beautiful thoughts and fine words."

I had looked around. I'd seen all the things she'd spoken of and more besides. I'd seen a bear cub lift it's face to the drenching spring rains. And the sliver moon of winter, so high and blinding. I'd seen the crimson glory of a stand of sugar maples in autumn and the unspeakable stillness of a mountain lake at dawn. I'd seen them and loved them. But I'd also seen the dark of things. The starved carcasses of winter deer. The driving fury of a blizzard wind. And the gloom that broods under the pines always. Even on the brightest days.

Why is it, she wondered now, that boys get to do things and be things and girls only get to watch?

Tell him what? a voice inside her asked. Tell him you've fallen for a penniless reporter whom you barely know? That's a brilliant idea, Jo. As soon as you've told Bram, you can tell your mother. I'm sure she'll be delighted.

Yeah. Sure. My brother's dead. My mother's insane. Hey, let's have a crepe.

Jimmy let's out a whistle.
"What?"
"Your hand."
I look at it. My ripped nail is still bleeding. I wipe the red off on my pants.
"You should get it taken care of. It looks awful" he says.
"I guess it does."
"You must be in pain, kid. Does it hurt?"
I nod. "Yeah, Jimmy. All the time.

I want the key", he said. "The key to the universe. To life. To the future and the past. To love and hate. Truth. God. It's there. Inside of us. In the genome. The answer to every question. If I can find it. That's what I want," he finished, softly. "I want the key.

There was a knock at the door. It was Lumiere. The Beast bade him enter.
"Is there anything else you require tonight before retiring, master?"
"I - I thought we might go skating tomorrow."
Lumiere's eyebrows shot up. "Skating, master? You? You've never skated in your life!"
"Belle mentioned that she has skated before. Back in her village. I thought she might like to try it here. How hard can it be?"
"On the backside? Very," said Lumiere.

One is not born knowing how to lead, one learns.

The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.

For I have seen it and I have felt it and it is love, not death, that undoes us.

Lots of things are true. Doesn't mean you have to go around saying them.

Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.

Death wounds only is you let her.

Because in a small dark room, a broken child lies on a filthy bed and stares up at a high window.
He waits for me, too.
And I - I who have failed at everything and have failed everyone - I must not, I cannot, I will not fail him.

Why do you write?' Because I love words and stories so much. Because I would be grief stricken every day of my life if I couldn't write. Because I'm obsessed and compelled. Because I'd be utterly useless at anything else.

Each queen was once a girl like you; told who to be and what to do. Not pretty, not pleasing, far too rough. Lacking, less than, not enough. Till wounded subjects, anguished dead, mattered more than things that others said. Then like a flag, her will unfold. Go now girl, remake the world!

Uh-oh,' Lafitte said ominously. 'Swamp queen just go angry.

The truth can be a hard thing, Jo. It's often best left hidden.

I lift my face to the night sky.
It's still dark.
But I can see the stars.

Love isn't idiotic. It's hard and messy, confusing and wonderful. But to love and be loved... that's all that matters.

An escape can become escapism before we even know it. Books are wonderful things, but you can't live in someone else's story. You have to live your own story.

Make them care, Mattie,' she said softly. 'And don't you ever be sorry.'
-Emily Wilcox

I finished polishing the clock and picked up one of the figurines next to it. It was in the shape of an angel and on the angel's gown were printed the words: ALMIGHTY GOD, GIVE US SERENITY TO ACCEPT WHAT CANNOT BE CHANGED, COURAGE TO CHANGE WHAT SHOULD BE CHANGED, AND WISDOM TO KNOW THE ONE FROM THE OTHER. What if you couldn't do that? Couldn't change things and couldn't accept them, either? I took hold of the angel's head and snapped it off. And then I snapped one wing off, and then the other. I broke his arms off, too, and then I asked him how serene he was feeling now

Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.

Life, Rose well knew, could throw some hard punches at you, but nothing hurt as much as losing a child, or seeing one of your children hurt and suffering. Becoming a parent changed you forever, as nothing else could. Not good or bad fortune. Not friendships. Not even a man or a woman.

Belle's tears spilled over. "Even if I could get out of this place, I wouldn't know where to go," she sobbed. "Where is it, Lucanos? Where is my home?"
The beetle sighed. He touched the tip of one leg to the place over Belle's heart. "It's here, foolish girl," he said. "Home is all the people, all the places, and all the things that you love. You carry it wherever you go. Don't you know that?

I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.

Stop burdening the gods. Stop cursing the devil. They will make no path for you. They gave you their dark gifts: reason and will. Now you must make your own way.
What's done is done. Whether to you, or by you, and you cannot change it.
But what's not done is not done.
And there, both hope and hazard lie. Believe that you can make your way. Or don't. Either way you are right. Every war is different, yet each battle is the same. The enemy is only a distraction. The thing you are fighting against, always, is yourself.

Believe that you can make your way. Or don't. Either way, you are right.

It's only the body that's gone. Only the body. There's a part that doesn't go in the ground, a part that stays inside you forever.

For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

Isabelle thought her heart might burst.One by one, queens, pirates, empresses, and generals from all the corners of the world told their stories, bowed their heads, and left the stage. They were not pretty, these women. Pretty did not begin to describe them.
They were shrewd. Powerful, Wily. Proud. Dangerous.
They were strong.
They were brave.
They were beautiful.

Jealousy. It burns so hot, so bright. It devours you until you're just a smoking ruin with nothing left inside. Nothing but ashes.

Yet I had such joy from the words.

Have you ever tried to stop her from doing something she wants to do?' Desiderio asked.
Mahdi sighed. 'Yeah, actually, I have,' he said. 'No further explanation needed.

Maximilien R. Peters! Incorruptible, ineluctable, and indestructable! It's time to start a revolution, baby

Right now I want a word that describes the feeling that you get
a cold sick feeling, deep down inside
when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don't want it to, but you can't stop it. And you know, for the first time, for the very first time, that there will now be a before and an after, a was and a will be. And that you will never again quite be the same person you were.

Life can be so difficult, and stories help us escape those difficulties. It's all right to lose yourself in one

Her eyes drank in the colors of home - the soft gray of an arctic gull's wing. The clear blue heart of an ice floe.

No. I meant stay with me today. And tomorrow. And every day after.

I could bear it [the shame] because I knew the truth, child," I say. "There was one of us in that marriage who was old, fat, and smelly, and it wasn't me."

"The King was cruel to speak thus," Alice says, but in a low voice. As if Henry, dead these past ten years, might somehow hear her.

"He was, yes," I say. "But I think mostly he was afraid."

Alice is sceptical. "Kings are afraid of nothing," she says.

"This King was afraid. I know it, for I'm the one who made him so. I made a mistake, child, a grave one."

"What was it?"

"I made my face a mirror when it should've been a mask, and what the King saw there terrified him. He hated me for it, and never, ever forgave me."

[Anna of Cleves]

Love is not for cowards.

Ghosts are not the dead, come back from the grave to torment the living; ghosts are already here. They live inside us, keening in the ashes of our sorrows, mired in the thick, clutching mud of our regrets.

That was what people did when they wanted to stop a girl from doing something - they shamed her.

I'm not crazy; I'm curious.

God didn't have to punish him; he'd created his own hell. By himself and for himself.

Her grief would run its course, like a fever, and release her when it was spent. He would not shush her or tell her it was God's will and that her da was better off. That was rubbish and they both knew it. When something hurt as bad as this, you had to let it hurt. There were no shortcuts. p. 100-101

Becoming a parent changed you forever, as nothing else could. p. 368

What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. Books. Not just one or two dozen, but hundreds of them. In crates. In piles on the floor. In bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling and lined the entire room. I turned around and around in a slow circle, feeling as if I'd just stumbled into Ali Baba's cave. I was breathless, close to tears, and positively dizzy with greed.