I know I promised a long post. Too bad. I'm addicted to everything. Neopets, facebook, etc. So instead of a normal post, you're going to get quotes from my favorite books, past and present.
David was uglier than she remembered. InTally's ugly-prince dreams, his imbalanced features had never been so disjointed, his unsurged teeth never so crooked or discolored. He looked no worse than Sussy or Dex, city kids who'd grown up with toothpaste pills and sunblock patches.
But this was David after all.
Even after her time with the villagers, many of them toothless and scarred, his face sent a shock through her. Not because he was hideous—he wasn't—but because he was simply ... unimpressive.
Not an ugly prince. Just ugly.
~Pretties by Scott Westerfeld.
But I'm not naked. I'm in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it's the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that's when I see myself in the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings.
Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.
~Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins.
If you are interesting in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book. In this book, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle. This is because not very many happy things happened in the lives of the three Baudelaire youngsters. Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire were intelligent children, and they were charming, and resourceful, and had pleasant facial features, but they were extremely unlucky, and most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery, and despair. I'm sorry to tell you this, but that is how the story goes.
~The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket.
If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were...
My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you."
"Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?"
Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.
We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.
"Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says.
I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's 'too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.
~The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.
The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you'd have to feed your cat only salmon- flavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right. The scudding clouds did look a bit fishy, rippled into scales by a high- altitude wind. As the light faded, deep blue gaps of night peered through like an upside- down ocean, bottomless and cold.
~Uglies by Scott Westerfeld.
That's all I got for y'alls. Now toodles, because I need to sleep.