Stefan Bachmann Quotes

Arthur Jelliby was a very nice young man, which was perhaps the reason why he had never made much of a politician.

A word could cause a riot, ink could spell a man's death, and the Sidhe knew those weapons like the backs of their hands. Oh yes, they knew.

I look up at the painting. It's not even that interesting. Definitely doesn't grab me and shake my brain around like the meadow scene did.

The Buddelbinsters, he'd heard them called. Once they'd had seven changeling children, and Bartholomew had seen them playing in the windows and the doorways. But other people had seen them, too, and one night a crowd had come and dragged the children away. Now there was only one, a frail-looking boy with thistle-hair.

Once people see you cry, it's like they own part of you. It's like you ripped a hole in yourself, and they saw through whatever armor you had on, got a good long view of all the screaming alien goop underneath.

Feathers fell from the sky. Like black snow, they drifted onto an old city called Bath.

But you will not spare a drop of pity because I am rich? We have death in our gilded courts, too. We have disease and cruelty, and not a breath of air or freedom. You cannot say our lives are easy, any more than I can say yours is. They are lives, and so they are HORRID!

The staircase was a mass of rotting wood, carved with such cruel-looking mermaids that Mr. Jelliby was afraid to put his hand on the banister.

I can't even fathom myself from twenty-four hours ago. I was so busy following my rotten little heart, Disney princess-style. I did end up in a palace, so that's cool.

Her voice was loud and cheerful, the way it was when nothing was well and she was determined not to show it.

Pikey Thomas dreamed of plums and caramel apples the night the faery-with-the-peeling-face stole his right eye.

Don't get yourself noticed and you won't get yourself hanged.

He wanted a faery. More than anything else in the world. He had already imagined exactly how it should happen. He would set up the invitation, and the next day there would be a petal-winged pisky clinging to the top of his bedpost. It would have a foolish grin on its face, and large ears, and it wouldn't notice at all that Bartholomew was small and ugly and different from everyone else.
But no. Mother had to ruin everything.

Stop it, Misha. Stop being so frightened of everything. But she couldn't stop. She carried fear with her like a little animal, curled in the nook behind her heart, and it whispered to her. You are weak, you are frightened, and you will never dare do anything at all.