Patrick Ness

Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world keeps changing, whether I want it to or not.

There's no reason for her to, no reason for me to ask her, but when I say to her, "Come on," a second time more urgently and gesture with my hand, she follows me, follows Manchee, and that's how it is, that's what we do, who knows if it's right, but that's what we do.

Nobody does nothing for you. If you don't change it, it don't get changed.

New World and the town where I'm from (avoiding saying the name, avoiding thinking the name) seem to be nothing but lies. But that's different. I said it before, men lie all the time, to theirselves, to other men, to the world at large, but who can tell when the lie's a strand in all the other lies and truths floating round outta yer head? Everyone knows yer lying but everyone else is lying, too, so how can it matter? What does it change? It's just part of the river of a man, part of his Noise, and sometimes you can pick it out, sometimes you can't.

Here is the boy, running.
Here was the boy, drowning.

a big, suspicious black girl.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, they gather themselves up, helping one another to their feet with a tenderness they don’t need to discuss.

As incredible as it seemed, time kept moving forward for the rest of the world.

The rest of the world that wasn’t waiting.

If you do not tell it, the monster said, I shall have to tell it for you. It held Conor up closer to its face. And believe me when I say, you do not want that.

Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a parson be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?