Patrick Ness Quotes

American-British novelist and children's writer

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Patrick Ness FRSL (born 17 October 1971) is an American-British author, journalist, lecturer, and screenwriter. Born in the United States, Ness moved to London and holds dual citizenship. He is best known for his books for young adults, including the Chaos Walking (2008–2010) trilogy and A Monster Calls (2011). Ness won the annual Carnegie Medal in 2011 and in 2012, for Monsters of Men and A Monster Calls.
He is one of seven writers to win two Medals, and the second to win consecutively. He wrote the screenplay of the 2016 film adaptation of A Monster Calls, and was the creator and writer of the Doctor Who spin-off series Class.

From: Wikipedia (CC BY-SA 4.0)

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Because an idea lives on after the death of the person.

And it hurts her, but it's an okay hurt, but it hurts still, but it's good, but it hurts.

Superior numbers versus superior firepower. A recipe for unending slaughter.

"Sometimes the people don't know what's best for them, Ivan," she says. "Sometimes the people have to be convinced of things that are necessary. That's what leadership is. Not shouting your head off in support of their every whim."

He knew it would come, and soon, maybe even this 12:07. The moment she would slip from his grasp, no matter how tightly he held on.

A good idea always attracts other good ideas.

Knowledge is dangerous.

Close enough so I can see the smile, a smile I know full well, a smile that clubs, a smile that beats, a smile that dominates.

"And what exactly do you think this proves?" he spits. "You've got power, but you don't know what to do with it."

VIOLA

"Looks like I'm doing fine," I say.

I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak...

I rub the ears of my dog, my stupid goddam ruddy great dog that I never wanted but who hung around anyway and who followed me thru the swamp and who bit Aaron when he was trying to choke me and who found Viola when she was lost and who's licking my hand with his little pink tongue and whose eye is still mostly squinted shut from where Mr. Prentiss Jr. kicked him and whose tail is way way shorter from where Matthew Lyle cut it off when my dog - my dog - went after a man with a machete to save me and who's right there when I need pulling back from the darkness I fall into and who tells me who I am whenever I forget.

I think how hope may be the thing that pulls you forward, may be the thing that keeps you going, but that it's dangerous, too, that it's painful and risky, that it's making a dare to the world and when has the world ever let us win a dare?

He’d heard once that the only people who could effectively treat the trauma of surviving an airplane crash were other survivors of airplane crashes. You could only instinctively trust someone who had been there, who had seen it firsthand.

A book… it’s a world all on its own too. A world made of words, where you live for a while.

And I have this stupid little thought that Aaron didn't survive the croc attack after all, that he died but he's so pissed off at me that dying didn't stop him from coming here to kill me anyway.