Traci Chee Quotes & Sayings

In a world where the only evidence of your existence was a body subject to decay and the works you left behind when the body was gone, you tried all manner of things to convince yourself that your life had some meaning, some permanence. — Traci Chee

Captain Reed eyed him thoughtfully. "I built my whole life around the stories they about me. You know what I learned?"

Archer shook his head.

"What you do makes you who you are.... — Traci Chee

...clutching the Book to his chest, under his crossed arms, as if trying to press it into his ribs, until his lungs filled with letters and his heart became a pulsing paragraph. — Traci Chee

But books are curious objects. They have the power to trap, transport, and even transform you if you are lucky. But in the end, books - even magic ones - are only objects pieced together from paper and glue and thread. That was the fundamental truth the readers forgot. How vulnerable the book really was. To fire. To the damp. To the passage of time. And to theft. — Traci Chee

It was the most terrible sound in a world of terrible sounds, the kind of sound that haunts you in the late hours of the night when the darkness shutters you in and the cold creeps into you through the cracks. When you are suddenly gripped by the unwavering certainty that you are already dead--and gone forever. — Traci Chee

She made each suture perfectly - one neat stitch after another - until they were lined up across Archer's wounds like sharp black letters, as if every set of stitches was a healing word Doc had written to keep his skin together. There — Traci Chee

If you didn't like your own life, you changed it. You ran away. You did something spectacular. you didn't steal someone else's story and pretend it was yours. — Traci Chee

It was years ago now, on a warm summer night,
When the boy came out of the sea.
His skin was blue and his hair was white,
And he was in love with me.
He was wild and true, and right then I knew
That he was in love with me.

In our ship we sailed for years on the ocean,
Unfettered and totally free.
And he gave all his days to his endless devotion,
For he was in love with me.
I called it a phase and made endless delays,
Though he was in love with me.

One day the waves swept him right off the ship
And dropped him into the blue.
As his skin turned to water, his hair into fish,
He asked if I loved him too.
Too late I called through the wind and the water,
'I was always in love with you.'
I was always in love with you. — Traci Chee

This is a book, and a book is a world, and words are the seeds in which meanings are curled. Pages of oceans and margins of land are civilizations you hold in the palm of your hand. But look at your world and your life seems to shrink to cities of paper and seas made of ink. Do you know who you are, or have you been misled? Are you the reader, or are you the read? — Traci Chee

If you're reading this, then maybe you know you ought to read everything. And maybe you know you ought to read deeply. Because there's witchery in these words and spellwork in the spine. — Traci Chee

Once there was, and one day there will be. This is the beginning of every story. "Once — Traci Chee

Home's what you make it." Nin shrugged. "Could be a ship. Could be what you carry around on your back day after day. Could be family. Or maybe just one person you love more than any other. That's home." The — Traci Chee

Were they all just stories whose endings had already been written, the dates of their deaths pinned to the page with periods? — Traci Chee

You got a choice, Sef. Control your future, or let your future control you." Above, — Traci Chee

If anything could be a book, there was no telling what you could learn, if you knew what to look for. Smooth river stones spelled out across a mossy floor. Lines drawn in the sand. Or inscribed on the side of a fallen log, half-obscured by twigs and mulch: This is a book. — Traci Chee

But being smart was overrated. Being stupid and brave and curious? Now that's something stories are made of. Dimarion's — Traci Chee

In Kelanna, when they mourn, they tell stories - as if the stories will keep you close to them. Believing that if they tell them often enough, for long enough, you won't be forgotten. Hoping that the stories will keep you alive - if only in memory. But — Traci Chee