Top 100 Frances Hardinge Quotes
#1. Night smelt the way Havoc's songs sounded. It smelt of steel and rushlights and the marsh welcoming a misstep and anger souring like old blood.
Frances Hardinge
#3. you only had to provide part of a lie. You could rely on other people's imaginations to fill the gaps. She
Frances Hardinge
#4. Magic was not an answer; it was an excuse to avoid looking for one.
Frances Hardinge
#5. Making a wish is like saying, 'I can't deal with anything, I give up, somebody bigger come along and solve it all instead.
Frances Hardinge
#6. Push something in someone's face, and they will shove it away reflexively. Threaten to snatch it away from them, and sometimes they become convinced that it is what they want.
Frances Hardinge
#7. She's one of my best friends, thought Neverfell, and most of the time I don't know what is going on in her head at all.
Frances Hardinge
#8. You couldn't plan a picnic without strangling yourself with the cloth.
Frances Hardinge
#9. If you want someone to tell you what to think ... "
"You will never be short of people willing to do so.
Frances Hardinge
#10. Faith had always told herself that she was not like other ladies. But neither, it seemed, were other ladies.
Frances Hardinge
#11. One of the two of us, thought Mosca, is in a lot of trouble right now. I wonder which of us it is? She isn't turning pale or plucking at her handkerchief. Oh draggles, I think it's me.
Frances Hardinge
#12. But easier, she reminded herself, was not the same as better.
Frances Hardinge
#13. Zeal was like gas, most dangerous when you could not see it. The wrong spark could light it at any time.
Frances Hardinge
#14. Over this year, familiarity had done its usual work, picking off the gilded paint one scratch at a time.
Frances Hardinge
#15. In Mosca's experience, a 'long story' was always a short story someone did not want to tell.
Frances Hardinge
#16. Gravelip, a young, slight footman with a pocked nose and large ears, obediently gave a smile like toothache. He seemed less than delighted to have outpaced his friends in the ugliness race.
Frances Hardinge
#17. But I don't want to be grateful. I'm tired of being kicked about like a pebble, and told that I have to be happy that it's no worse. I've had enough. It's time the pebble kicked back.
Frances Hardinge
#18. Hate has its uses, but it will serve you ill if you wear it so openly.
Frances Hardinge
#19. Nobody's mind ever remains a blank page, however carefully they are locked away from the world.
Frances Hardinge
#20. Lost: one bonnet, two clogs. Kept in spite of the odds: two thumbs, one life.
Frances Hardinge
#21. Clent sat up with impressive if graceless promptness, snatched his wig from a bedknob, and slammed it on his head back to front. Only then did he go about the business of actually waking.
Frances Hardinge
#22. I hate you!" Pen's would-be shout was muffled by breathlessness, and not-Triss realized that the younger girl was sobbing with exhaustion and rage. "I hate you! You stupid . . . Why did you have to happen? I never asked for a stupid . . . stupid . . . toothy . . . stupid . . . monster thing.
Frances Hardinge
#23. Grab their lines! Stop that coffeehouse!" someone was shouting. "There are fugitives and cell-breakers aboard!
Frances Hardinge
#24. I'm going to get out. Her spirits lurched unsteadily into the air like a wounded pigeon. I'm going to get out of this wormpit of a town. And I will never, never come back here again.
Frances Hardinge
#25. Sometimes fear made you angry. Perhaps after years anger cooled, like a sword taken from a forge. Perhaps in the end you were left with something very cold and very sharp.
Frances Hardinge
#26. each lady quietly relaxed and became more real, expanding into the space left by the men. Without visibly changing, they unfolded, like flowers, or knives. Faith
Frances Hardinge
#27. In Caverna lies were an art and everybody was an artist, even young children.
Frances Hardinge
#28. We always find it difficult to forgive our heroes for being human.
Frances Hardinge
#29. Little god, you see the world through such black eyes."
"Got no choice. My father give 'em to me.
Frances Hardinge
#30. I was always awake!" interrupted Faith. "I was always angry!
Frances Hardinge
#31. She is the key to this mystery, a key that I will turn, by hook or by crook.
Frances Hardinge
#32. It has made me what I am. When every door is closed, one learns to climb through windows. Human nature, I suppose.
Frances Hardinge
#33. The ladies' fans opened with cracks like pistol shots, and were held up to block the stranger from view.
Frances Hardinge
#34. Why? How had this otherwise sensible woman who had only met Beamabeth as a screaming purple blob fallen under her spell? Or had Beamabeth slipped immaculate into the world, petal-cheeked and smiling amidst gleaming golden curls?
Frances Hardinge
#35. There was a hunger in her, and girls were not supposed to be hungry. They were supposed to nibble sparingly when at table, and their minds were supposed to be satisfied with a slim diet too.
Frances Hardinge
#36. It was all very well being told that she could do nothing to make things better. Neverfell did not have the kind of mind that could take that quietly. She did not have the kind of mind that could be quiet at all.
Frances Hardinge
#37. Yes, ma'am, I like raspberry cake, only I like it better with no poison or scorpions in it.
Frances Hardinge
#38. I don't care about my face! I'm tired of being stupid, and everybody keeping me stupid just for the sake of my face. Even if it means I have to run off and live in the wild caves with a bag over my head, I still want to know what's going on. I need to know.
Frances Hardinge
#39. Everything is really something else in disguise. Of course she was no exception, she reminded herself. Everybody would assume that she was there as the Childersins' novelty pet, or as a Perfume-detector. Nobody would guess that she was there to look for the person who had stolen her history.
Frances Hardinge
#40. Her moment came. Nobody was looking. She sidled quickly across the deck and lost herself among the crates that clustered at the base of the boat's shuddering, discoloured funnel. The air tasted of salt and guilt, and she felt alive.
Frances Hardinge
#41. My dear fellow, money is no substitute for the right kind of friend ...
Frances Hardinge
#42. Again Mosca felt she was up in the rafters, watching the mice. Little mouse, witless with fear. Running the wrong way. And here she was, just watching. Becoming a part of it by doing nothing.
Frances Hardinge
#43. Every inch of Neverfell seemed to be throbbing with life. Everything was new, and new was a drug.
Frances Hardinge
#45. I swam across the torrent of my madness, and pulled myself upon the shore of a new and better sanity.
Frances Hardinge
#46. People were animals, and animals were nothing but teeth. You bit first, and you bit often. That was the only way to survive.
Frances Hardinge
#47. We're in a nest of secrets here. Don't let down your guard.
Frances Hardinge
#48. I lied to you and it was easy, because you believe everybody means what they say. Everyone's lying to you, Neverfell. Everyone. And you can't tell, because you're just not very bright when it comes to people. Brighten up fast, or you're done for.
Frances Hardinge
#49. Somehow the sting of guilt was always more acute when there was a risk that she might get caught.
Frances Hardinge
#50. Where is your sense of patriotism?
I keep it hid away safe, along with my sense of trust, Mr. Clent. I don't use 'em much in case they get scratched.
Frances Hardinge
#51. Somehow, without noticing, Mosca had become old enough to hear about such things.
Frances Hardinge
#52. She felt like an amputee, reaching out reflexively with an arm she no longer had.
Frances Hardinge
#53. He has been dying for a very, very, very long time, and his span came to an end as all eras must.
Frances Hardinge
#54. So this was a nest of radicals. She thought a hotbed of sedition would involve more gunpowder and secret handshakes, and less shuffling of feet and passing the sugar.
Frances Hardinge
#56. She was gauging him, trying to work out what cards he had up his sleeve. For now he might be able to keep her off balance by smiling meaningfully and dropping hints, delaying the moment in which she realized that she held all the cards, and that his well-brushed sleeves held nothing but his arms.
Frances Hardinge
#57. Revenge is a dish best served unexpectedly and from a distance - like a thrown trifle.
Frances Hardinge
#58. We thought ourselves kings of the ages. Now we find that all our civilisation has been nothing but a brief, brightly lit nursery, where we have played with paper crowns and wooden sceptres.
Frances Hardinge
#59. My dear fellow," he continued more soberly, "If you have managed to complicate things by forming a sentimental attachment in less than a week, then I doubt there is anything I can do for you. You, sir, are a romantic, and I suspect your condition is incurable.
Frances Hardinge
#60. She did not hate Clent for the way he had spoken. For most of her life she had been at the mercy of stronger and more powerful people who cared nothing for her. She had always been afraid, and her fear had made her angry.
Frances Hardinge
#62. True stories seldom have endings.
I don't want a happy ending, I want more story.
Frances Hardinge
#63. This was thieves' cant. Mosca was a lover of words, and she had a sneaking liking for the grimy panache of cant, and those who wore it like a ragged red cloak.
Frances Hardinge
#64. Through the bars he had laid eyes on a face like glass, somebody who could not lie without it being obvious. And he had seen a way of using that very fact to tell the greatest of lies.
Frances Hardinge
#65. The world is like a broken wrist that healed the wrong way, and will never be the same again.
Frances Hardinge
#66. The passing seconds became dangerous and spacious. The rules tinkled silently as they broke.
Frances Hardinge
#67. Just between you and me,' Mosca whispered, 'radicalism is all about walkin' on the grass.
Frances Hardinge
#68. It did seem hard to be doing something heroic while everyone was too busy to notice.
Frances Hardinge
#70. That last extraordinary Face had sent a throb through her very soul, like a breeze shivering the string of a harp, and she could not account for it.
Frances Hardinge
#71. She could no longer understand the Faith from the night of the ratting, who had believed that the world was only teeth and hunger, nothing but killing and dead bones in the dust. Hunger cannot explain why I love the blue of this sky, she thought.
Frances Hardinge
#72. Would you have her birched in the public square? Baited by dogs perhaps? Madam, we have destroyed her good name, and she will find the world a much colder and darker place as a result. Even now her father is probably changing her name to Buzzletrice.
Frances Hardinge
#73. You're a peach full of poison, you know that? Mosca snapped back, but could not quite keep a hint of admiration from her tone.
Frances Hardinge
#74. For a tiny instant Faith wondered whether it would benefit the doctor's investigation if he experienced a cliff fall first-hand.
Frances Hardinge
#75. Brand a man as a thief and no one will ever hire him for honest labor - he will be a hardened robber within weeks. The brand does not reveal a person's nature, it shapes it.
Frances Hardinge
#76. She had needed kindness before, and had received none. Now it was too late, and she did not know what to do with it.
Frances Hardinge
#77. You know, that's a really beautiful bow," Neverfell interrupted suddenly. "Did you make it?"
"Found it, mended it, modified it," was the curt reply.
Frances Hardinge
#78. How does it feel, whispered Faith, to come back to your memories and find yourself missing and a dead person in your place?
Frances Hardinge
#79. I want to be a bad example,' she said. 'I see.' Myrtle stirred herself, ready to walk to the prow. 'Well, my dear, I think you have made an excellent start.
Frances Hardinge
#80. Do you know why a vandal is worse than a thief?' asked the man on the right, in a soft growl. 'A thief steals a treasure from its owner. A vandal steals it from the world.
Frances Hardinge
#81. Quiet people often have a weather sense that loud people lack. They feel the wind-changes of conversations, and shiver in the chill of unspoken resentments.
Frances Hardinge
#82. Hathin stared out across the water and deliberately let her eyes unfocus slightly. It did no good lodging your gaze on the waves as they slid and fractured. The trick was to see nothing and everything, until you started to notice any tear or break in the rhythms of the water.
Frances Hardinge
#83. Mosca had preferred it when she could hear the edge in her companion's voice. Now she felt like someone who knows that there is a scorpion somewhere in the room but can't see where it is.
Frances Hardinge
#84. Uncle Miles was napping in his seat, blithely and easily as a puppy on a rug.
Frances Hardinge
#85. There was too much to feel strongly about, she was stretched too thin, so she could not quite feel anything about anything.
Frances Hardinge
#87. Every time I do what you say I tumble a bit farther down this well of darkness, an' this here is a drop too deep an' too dark for me. I have to stop falling while I can still see a bit of the sky.
Frances Hardinge
#88. But ... I want to remember this conversation! I want to understand! I don't want to be a toy! I don't want to be a thing! I want to know how everything works!
Frances Hardinge
#89. Once again Toll-by-Night had burst out of its captivity, like a monstrous jack from an innocent-looking box. And this time Mosca was a part of it.
Frances Hardinge
#90. Silence itself could be used as deftly and cruelly as a kire
Frances Hardinge
#91. Mandelion spread itself like a butterfly of brick and slate.
Frances Hardinge
#92. This was the hardest part. It was easier to be the witch, the harpy. Being human was dangerous.
Frances Hardinge
#93. My mother is not evil, Faith reminded herself. She is just a perfectly sensible snake, protecting her eggs and making her way in the world as best she can.
Frances Hardinge
#94. Every step she took seemed to show her a new danger. Talking to strangers could kill her. Failing to remember table etiquette could kill her. Ignorance could kill her. And now it seemed that stepping outside the tasters' chambers for a stroll could kill her.
Frances Hardinge
#95. Since that time Saracen had been making a name for himself. That name was not 'Saracen'. Indeed the name was more along the lines of 'that hell-fowl', 'did-you-see-what-it-did-to-my-leg', 'kill-it-kill-it-there-it-goes' or 'what's-that-chirfugging-goose-done-now'.
Frances Hardinge
#96. I left you clean. Purged of all your ghosts. I am the one who has been haunted all my life. Haunted by you.
Frances Hardinge
#97. What would have happened if Caverna had been torn by a civil war, the two opposed leaders housed in a single body?
Frances Hardinge
#98. I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated ...
Frances Hardinge
#100. This is a battlefield, Faith! Women find themselves on battlefields, just as men do. We are given no weapons, and cannot be seen to fight. But fight we must, or perish.
Frances Hardinge
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