Hardinge Quotes & Sayings

Revenge is a dish best served unexpectedly and from a distance - like a thrown trifle. — Frances Hardinge

You need me," Pen explained. "I'm your lookout. If I see the coppers coming, I'll make a sound like an owl. — Frances Hardinge

My dear fellow, money is no substitute for the right kind of friend ... — Frances Hardinge

Nobody's mind ever remains a blank page, however carefully they are locked away from the world. — Frances Hardinge

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

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

Neverfell shepherded her herd of frightened, woolly suspicions. — Frances Hardinge

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

The ladies' fans opened with cracks like pistol shots, and were held up to block the stranger from view. — Frances Hardinge

Suddenly he remembered Josh sitting on the motorbike and chatting with the bikers outside the pub - and he felt a throb of jealousy. It wasn't that he harbored any desire to sit on a motorbike, but ... he wanted to be allowed to want to sit on a motorbike. — Frances Hardinge

The ubiquitous palace servants opened the door for Neverfell as she approached, and Zouelle was suddenly stung by the thought of the guards perhaps calling Neverfell 'my lady' the same way they had addressed her. Immediately the honour of that title cheapened in her mind, like a piece of tinsel that had adorned the neck of a puppy or piglet. — Frances Hardinge

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

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

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

All these years I've been ... I'm ... ' He still seemed to be choking. 'I'm ... an orphan. I'm ... I'm alone. I'm ... I'm ... I'm ... free.' He pushed himself up on one elbow, staring at his hands as if for the first time they had become his own. 'I can ... I can do anything. I can leave Jealousy! I can break my spectacles and run off barefoot to become a ... a ... cobbler! I can ... I can marry my housekeeper! Do I have a housekeeper? I never had time to notice! But now I can get a housekeeper! And marry her! — Frances Hardinge

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

I should never have told you ... I don't know what happened to me. I just ... wanted to talk to somebody."
"And if you hadn't you'd still be going crazy with what you know, and I'd be going crazy with what I didn't know, and both of us would be alone. Right now, I'm upset but I'm ... " Neverfell hesitated, like one stretching a limb they think might be broken. "I'm all right. I think I'm more all right than I have been for ages. Great big holes of unknown are the worst thing. Before this, I didn't know anything was wrong but I didn't not know, if you see what I mean. You can go mad like that. And if my face is spoilt now, once and for all, then it means I don't have to worry about it any more. — Frances Hardinge

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

Josh was the only person Ryan had ever told about the way this picture had frightened him. It had shown him that if you looked at things from a new angle they could suddenly become unfamiliar and scary. It became important to see things in as many different ways as possible, so they couldn't catch you by surprise. — Frances Hardinge

I understand Neverfell, you see. For Neverfell, it is as if other people are part of her. When she believes they are in pain, it hurts her, like a wound in a pretend limb. So right now she is in pain for all the people she saw in the Undercity. — Frances Hardinge

In Mosca's experience, a 'long story' was always a short story someone did not want to tell. — Frances Hardinge

My child, you have a flawed grasp of the nature of myth-making. I am a poet and storyteller, a creator of ballads and sagas. Pray do not confuse the exercise of the imagination with mere mendacity. I am a master of the mysteries of words, their meanings and music and mellifluous magic. — Frances Hardinge

Words were dangerous when loosed. They were more powerful than cannon and more unpredictable than storms. They could turn men's heads inside out and warp their destinies. They could pick up kingdoms and shake them until they rattled. — Frances Hardinge

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

What would have happened if Caverna had been torn by a civil war, the two opposed leaders housed in a single body? — Frances Hardinge

It was not the first time Faith had been alone with the dead of course. She had watched five younger brothers wane, felt the trusting pressure of their small hands in hers. And later, each time, she had done her part in keeping watch over the body for the wake. There always needed to be somebody watching over the newly dead, just in case they turned out not to be dead after all. It was best to know these things before anyone was actually buried. — Frances Hardinge

She had big, vague eyes and a big, vague smile, and was always very busy in the way that a moth crashing about in a lampshade is busy. — Frances Hardinge

I am not good. Something in Faith's head broke free, beating black wings into the sky. Nobody good could feel what I feel. I am wicked and deceitful and full of rage. I cannot be saved. She did not feel hot or helpless any more. She felt the way snakes looked when they moved. — Frances Hardinge

Pull on a thread, and you pull on the whole web. And then out come the spiders ... — Frances Hardinge

She lay there with her eyes closed, as if sleep were a shy creature that might venture out if she played dead. But every time it seemed to be drawing closer, some loud thought would crash and blunder through the undergrowth, putting it to flight. — Frances Hardinge

However, the crowds all the while maintained their mouse-tense hush, their air of urgency. Fear. There was a reek of it everywhere, Mosca realized, in every guarded glance or falsely friendly backslap. A clammy smell, like rotten leaves. And everybody went about their lives in spite of it, because fear was part of their lives. — Frances Hardinge

And perhaps some other later girl, leafing through her father's library, would come across a footnote in an academic journal and read the name 'Faith Sunderly.' Faith? she would think. That is a female name. A woman did this. If that is so ... then so can I. And the little fire of hope, self-belief and determination would pass to another heart. — Frances Hardinge

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

Grab their lines! Stop that coffeehouse!" someone was shouting. "There are fugitives and cell-breakers aboard! — Frances Hardinge

Somehow the sting of guilt was always more acute when there was a risk that she might get caught. — Frances Hardinge

He was bellowing a great many words that were new to Mosca and sounded quite interesting. She memorized them for future use. — Frances Hardinge

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

I am anything I wish to be. The world cannot choose for me. No, it is for me to choose what the world shall be. — Frances Hardinge

Silence itself could be used as deftly and cruelly as a kire — Frances Hardinge

Her self-respect had suffered a head-on collision with love, a clash that generally only ends one way. Love does not fight fair. In that moment her pride, the gut knowledge that she was right, even her sense of who she was, meant nothing, faced as she was with the prospect of being unloved. Faith — Frances Hardinge

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

Oh, why don't we blame it on Pen?" not-Triss heard herself snap, in a voice that sounded harsher and more brutal than her own. something had burst, and the words welled up in spite of all her attempts to dam them. "That's what we always do, isn't it? That's what she's for, isn't it? We blame everything on Pen and then we change the subject. And nothing matters as long as we don't talk about it. — Frances Hardinge

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

Mosca said nothing. The word 'damsel' rankled with her. She suddenly thought of the clawed girl from the night before, jumping the filch on an icy street. Much the same age and build as Beamabeth, and far more beleaguered. What made a girl a 'damsel in distress'? Were they not allowed claws? Mosca had a hunch that if all damsels had claws they would spend a lot less time 'in distress'. — Frances Hardinge

Saracen had finished his barley and was happily chewing at the corner of a sheet that had been spread across a hedge to dry. He had once discovered a tablecloth, and ever since had been optimistic about the effects of dragging cloths off the top of things. — Frances Hardinge

In Caverna lies were an art and everybody was an artist, even young children. — Frances Hardinge

A knife is made with a hundred tasks in mind," he continued, threading his bone needle. "Stab. Slice. Flay. Carve. But scissors are really intended for one job alone - snipping things in two. Dividing by force. Everything on one side or the other, and nothing in between. Certainty. We're in-between folk, so scissors hate us. They want to snip us through and make sense of us, and there's no sense to be made without killing us. Watch out for old pairs of scissors in particular, or scissors made in old ways. — Frances Hardinge

Well, they set spiders and snakes on me for a bit and blew me up and there was this really scary cake, but it's mostly all right now, I think. Except I don't ever want any more cake. Look! — Frances Hardinge

Kohlrabi's face had no expression at all, and suddenly Mosca could barely recognize him. His face had always seemed so honest, like an unshuttered window through which emotions shone without disguise. Perhaps his expressions had always been a magic-lantern display, a conjurer's trick. — Frances Hardinge

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

Who had they been, all these mothers and sisters and wives? What were they now? Moons, blank and faceless, gleaming with borrowed light, each spinning loyally around a bigger sphere.
'Invisible,' said Faith under her breath. Women and girls were so often unseen, forgotten, afterthoughts. Faith herself had used it to good effect, hiding in plain sight and living a double life. But she had been blinded by exactly the same invisibility-of-the-mind, and was only just realizing it. — Frances Hardinge

For a second, she could almost see Caverna as the Kleptomancer did, a murky, monstrous beauty, smiling her fine-fanged smile as she prepared to stretch and grow, shaking out her tunnel-tresses as they became longer and longer. Perhaps Caverna had already known that such an opportunity was open to her. Neverfell imagined her discarding the Grand Steward like a worn-out toy, and reaching for a new favourite, a man who could extend her empire and bring her new strength ... Maxim Childersin. — Frances Hardinge

Just between you and me,' Mosca whispered, 'radicalism is all about walkin' on the grass. — Frances Hardinge

She wanted there to be more blood and screeching. She wanted each death to detonate before her like a little black firework. She wanted it to matter. There was bellowing all around her, but the killing itself was soft and quiet and matter of fact. Life to death, life to death, with no more drama than turning over a counterpane. — Frances Hardinge

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

She could feel her mind pulling loose like knitting, the neat stitches of her artificial days unravelling to become one mangled thread. — Frances Hardinge

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

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

For in this sickened world, it is better to believe in something too fiercely than to believe in nothing.' Words, words, wonderful words. But lies too. 'No, it isn't!' shouted Mosca the Housefly, Quillam Mye's daughter. 'Not if what you're believin' isn't blinkin' well True! You shouldn't just go believin' things for no reason, pertickly if you got a sword in your hand! Sacred just means something you're not meant to think about properly, an' you should never stop thinking! Show me something I can kick, and hit with rocks, and set fire to, and leave out in the rain, and think about, and if it's still standing after all that then maybe, just maybe, I'll start to believe in it, but not till then. An' if all we're left with is muck and wickedness and no gods, then we'd better face it and get used to it because it's better than a lie. Which is what you are, Mr Kohlrabi.' Mosca — Frances Hardinge

Mosca and Saracen shared, if not a friendship, at least the solidarity of the generally despised. Mosca assumed that Saracen had his reasons for his persecution of terriers and his possessive love of the malthouse roof. In turn, when Mosca had interrupted Saracen's self-important nightly patrol and scooped him up, Saracen had assumed that she too had her reasons. — Frances Hardinge

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

His persistence allowed us to play a game, and pretend that everything can stay as it is now forever. It cannot. The events of this day have shown us what happens when you try to keep things from changing. Sooner or later the sleeplessness catches up with you, the paranoia about threats devours you and your mind betrays you even if your body does not. — Frances Hardinge

Afterward it was hard to be sure exactly when the sublime light had dazzled their minds and driven them mad, since they went insane with such calm and dignity that nobody noticed. — Frances Hardinge

At one o'clock, the ever-logical Right-Eye Grand Steward woke up to discover that during his sleep his left-eyed counterpart had executed three of his advisors for treason, ordered the creation of a new carp pool and banned limericks. Worse still, no progress had been made in tracking down the Kleptomancer, and of the two people believed to be his accomplices, both had been released from prison and one had been appointed food taster. Right-Eye was not amused. He had known for centuries that he could trust nobody but himself. Now he was seriously starting to wonder about himself. — Frances Hardinge

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

She dreamed of a world where books did not rot or give way to green blot, where words and ideas were not things you were despised for treasuring. — Frances Hardinge

Tea is the magic key to the vault where my brain is kept. — Frances Hardinge

And you may comfort yourself with the thought that you have been the caltrop under her satin shoe every step of the way. You misdirected the Romantic Facilitator she had hired, you turned up in her own house and reported her plans to her father and when she was on the brink of snatching the ransom you careered in from stage left dressed as a pantomime horse and threw everything into disorder. And then, just when she was probably working her way towards claiming a second ransom, you rescued her. — Frances Hardinge

I want my chirfugging goose back! — Frances Hardinge

You stole my mother's Faces," whispered Neverfell. "You stole them, and you sold them, and you walked around wearing them, and using them to make people do what you wanted. You used my mother's Faces on me. And all the time you were her murderess or close enough. All that time you were trying to murder me. — Frances Hardinge

We always find it difficult to forgive our heroes for being human. — Frances Hardinge

Well, you will have to do. If you had died along with your mother, I would have taught the cat to read. — Frances Hardinge

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

At first only Tamarind had noticed the awkward, disquieting way his expressions changed, as if a puppeteer were pulling wires to move his face muscles, and doing it rather badly. Nowadays she saw the fear in everybody's eyes. Her brother was going out of tune like an old piano, and nobody would come to retune his strings. Dukes and kings may go mad at their leisure, for nobody has enough power to stop them. — Frances Hardinge

Oh, painted smirk of a hopeless dawn, the girl is still wearing her breeches ... — Frances Hardinge

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

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

What's a little maiming and treachery between friends? — Frances Hardinge

She felt like an amputee, reaching out reflexively with an arm she no longer had. — Frances Hardinge

Over this year, familiarity had done its usual work, picking off the gilded paint one scratch at a time. — Frances Hardinge

Her face was upside down, but he could still make out her expression, and it filled him with a pang of curiosity. It was so long since he had seen such an expression that it took a while for him to recognize it as pity. Yes, it was true pity, without superiority or disdain. Just pain felt for pain. How strange it looked! — Frances Hardinge

There was an invisible necklace of nows, stretching out in front of her along the crazy, twisting road, each bead a golden second. — Frances Hardinge

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

Yes, ma'am, I like raspberry cake, only I like it better with no poison or scorpions in it. — Frances Hardinge

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

Oh, Neverfell, you're just not made for undercover work. You can't lie, my dear, and I can. Leave Madame Appeline and the Doldrums to me. Stay here and keep your head down. — Frances Hardinge

Fear of the Locksmiths and Skellow's thumb-cutting knife flooded Mosca but did not fill her. Somehow there was room in her core for an angry little knot of excitement, tight and fierce as a pike's grin. — Frances Hardinge

I know how it is," Madame Appeline said, narrowing her slanting eyes slightly over her ice-cream smile. "There is a feeling deep down inside you, isn't there? All the time. It bothers you. You don't really know what it is, or how to describe it. You do not have a Face for it. And so you scan all the Face catalogues, and ask for Faces for every birthday because perhaps, just perhaps, if you had the right Face, you might understand what you are feeling. You need to find that Face." She leaned forward slightly. "Do go and look at our exhibition rooms, Miss Childersin. — Frances Hardinge

Mosca felt something enormous swell within the knotted stomach that she hid behind her fists. It seemed it must surge out of her like a wild, black wave, sweeping away stalls and strollers alike and biting the plaster from the walls. — Frances Hardinge

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

Lost: one bonnet, two clogs. Kept in spite of the odds: two thumbs, one life. — Frances Hardinge

He felt like a chess-master who, two moves from achieving checkmate, suddenly sees a live kitten dropped on to the middle of the board, scattering pieces. — Frances Hardinge

Yes, I know,' she said in answer to the unasked, for there was no time for explanations. 'Yes. My face is spoilt.'

Grandible's jowl wobbled and creased. Then, for the first time that Neverfell could remember, he changed to a Face she had never seen before, a frown more ferocious and alarming than either of the others.

'Who the shambles told you that?' he barked. 'Spoilt? I'll spoil them.' He took hold of her chin and examined her. 'A bit sadder, maybe. A bit wiser. But nothing rotten. You're just growing yourself a rind at last. Still a good cheese. — Frances Hardinge

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

But easier, she reminded herself, was not the same as better. — Frances Hardinge

Which of your victims are you being interviewed about today, anyway?
Jonathan, don't call my subjects victims. — Frances Hardinge

Hate has its uses, but it will serve you ill if you wear it so openly. — Frances Hardinge

Sometimes she felt she would like to engulf him like a trap-lantern, and never share him with anyone or anything else again, not even the light. Even his obsession with ruling Caverna pained her, as if the city were a woman, and a rival. — Frances Hardinge

Tips for aspiring writers: don't be afraid of writing rubbish. It's very easy to become hypnotised by an empty page or screen. It's tempting to abandon a half-finished work because you can't make it perfect. I hereby give you permission to write things that aren't perfect, make mistakes, try things that don't work, experiment with styles you're not used to and generally throw words around. You'll learn much faster that way. — Frances Hardinge

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