Young Adult Authors

"[T]hat’s something Roth does extraordinarily well – explain the toughest parts of life. Love, loss, heartbreak, joy and faith."

"“Do you know,” it says, “a zmora can tell the difference between dread and fear. A person fears what’s unknown, but they dread what’s known.”"

"“There’s nothing otherworldly about you.” “Oh really?” Niko laughs a little. “The fact that I can make you see things that aren’t there, that seems completely ordinary to you?” “Hallucinogenic mushrooms can also make me see things that aren’t there. I don’t call them supernatural, either.”"

"“You need to calm down,” Ala says to him, her eyes closed. “I can’t concentrate with you scared like this, it’s like you’re waterboarding me with hot chocolate.”"

"He feels like there’s a hand tugging him back toward the house where Dymitr is being tortured by people who claim to love him. But they don’t love him, Niko thinks. Because if love doesn’t allow change, then what the fuck is that love worth?"

"One of the great lies humanity tells is that time produces wisdom. Oh, Ala will concede that time creates more opportunities for a person to become wise, but it’s hardly a guarantee."

"“You want me to be jealous?” “Can you blame me for being curious what it feels like?” Niko smiles a little. “I am what I am, after all.” “Some people would call that a red flag.” “The fact that I can turn into a deadly monster in an instant should be a much bigger, redder flag.”"

"Gentle souls cast as devils in humankind’s ongoing stage play of existence. It’s Oppression 101: find a bad guy, and if you can’t, make one up."

"When someone targets innocents among my people, then yes. I hunt them. And I think the world is better for it."

"“As a general rule, I don’t feel the need to antagonize people,” Niko says. “There’s plenty of anger in the world already. But it can be interesting to see how people react.”"

"As far as Niko knows, that’s nonsense, but mortals are always devising nonsense."

"“Don’t fear pain, Dymek,” he said. “Fear…losing your purpose, losing your family, losing yourself. Those things are worse than pain.”"

"I may be biased, but I think I have the best readers ever."

"Suffering isn’t atonement."

"Bellamy worried about her constantly. The kid was special, and he'd do anything to give her a chance at a different life. Anything to make up for what she'd had to endure."

"She turned over her shoulder and caught his eye, shaking her head slightly, a clear warning not to do anything stupid. But Bellamy had been doing stupid things all his life, and he had no intention of stopping now."

"Wells surprised himself by handing her the book. "What's your name?" he asked. "So you know to whom you'll be eternally indebted?" "So I know who to blame when I'm arrested." The girl tucked the book under her arm and then extended her hand. "Clarke." "Wells," he said, reaching forward to shake it. He smiled, and this time it didn't hurt."

"You have been given an unprecedented chance to put the past behind you," the Chancellor was saying. "The mission on which you're about to embark is dangerous, but your bravery will be rewarded. If you succeed, your infractions will be forgiven, and you'll be able to start new lives on Earth."

"…everyone called him Itch except his mother, whose bright idea it had been to name him Itchingham in the first place."

"Every kid should have a hobby—just not this one."

"Itchingham Lofte had caused explosions before. There had, in truth, been many bangs, flashes, and smells coming from his bedroom in the past. His multi-stained carpet and pockmarked walls were a testament to that. But there had been nothing like this explosion—it made even more of an imact than the small earthquake that had rippled under Cornwall a few months before."

"There should be a law against parents using sarcasm, thought Itch."

"The school had been designated a "Science Academy" and attracted many sponsors: charities, eminent scientists, and a global oil company. The academy logo proclaimed: Together. Inspired. No one seemed quite sure what it meant."

"But the only person who was ever pleased to see him was Jack. She realized that Itch was a little different, but she was happy to tolerate that. When Itch started to tell her about the chemical composition of her Twix or why her apple was turning brown, she would just flick his ear or poke him with a pencil. "Don't be boring, Itch, or I'll tell you more about Gossip Girl." This mention of Jack's favorite TV show was usually enough to stop Itch in his tracks."

"He turned and smiled at his class. "Morning boys, let's begin." His homeroom class had given up pointing out that they were more than fifty percent girls and just accepted that by "boys" he meant everyone. Mr. Watkins had come from an all-boys school in Edinburgh five years earlier and he was clearly not about to change the way he addressed his students."

"Ms. Glenacre was, it seemed, approaching her hundredth birthday and had never had a nice thought about anybody in her life."

"Grace Glenacre forgot that she had been sick. Now she was furious. "How dare you? How dare you?!" she shouted. "I don't think I have ever sworn at a member if the staff before, but I'm going to now." She swore at him. "I have no idea what just happened in there, but twenty-seven sick kids and one sick teacher is not hysteria." Her voice was rising. "It's not hysteria, do you hear me!" Flowerdew stood up. "You're clearly hysterical," he said. "We'll talk later.""

"Itch thought that Jay seemed to spend all of her time either eating her potato chips or picking her nose. Today she was managing both, bag balanced on lap, one hand for each task. Classy, he thought."

"I'm sure 'I used it all, just to be on the safe side' is not the greatest piece of scientific advice out there!"

"Maybe the body finds untapped reserves when it needs to; maybe the fear of dying makes it do extraordinary things."

"He wrote stories about everything he saw, and he saw a lot. He walked through the streets of Brooklyn along the water, or leaned against the store windows on Livingston Street watching people hurrying along, making up stories about this one or that one."

"But what gave him the most satisfaction was going back through the pages to read about his first story appearing in the Saturday Evening Post. That afternoon he'd bought Bird the largest bag of lemon drops he could find. "He gives her candy," she had said, remembering too."

"Leave it to Annie. She knew everything."

"How different everyone looked. How louldly they talked about who was starting work tomorrow, who would start in a week, while Sister Raymond sat at her desk looking serene. Bird felt a lurch in her chest. Of all of them, she though, she might be the one who'd miss school the most."

"She wanted to put her head down on her knees and close her eyes. She felt the way she had years ago when she'd tumbled down the stairs and had the wind knocked out of her: a pain in the chest and stomach so strong it was hard to breathe."

"He knew what she'd be reading first as she started from the beginning, reading what he'd had to say when he was younger, and then growing older, stories at first about tiny mice who lived in families in back of the wall, and stories about school, and apartments in Greenpoint and Carnasie and Flatbush, elves in Ireland that he'd pictured as Pop had told him about them, and the woman with lace on her sleeves. She kept turning pages, and then halfway through, she whispered, "Water Street." Thomas knew she was reading now about a boy who listened at a register, thinking about a family, and a lighthouse, and then she turned the next page and took a breath. It was the story he really wanted her to see: a story about a girl who though less of herself than everyone else did, who worried about everyone, even when she didn't want to, even when it made her irritable. A girl who was afraid, and who hardly knew it yet, but was on her way to being a healer like her mother, because there'd never be anything else for her, and how lucky they were just to know her."

"What was the use of writing if someone didn't read what you have to say?"

"She didn't want to touch the baby. Didn't want to know if she was dead. But still she reached down, her arms underneath that small body, and pulled it up against her. The body was burning with fever. But alive. Alive!"

"The girl's mouth was chapped, tight and pinched, her skin dry. Mama would say she looked woebegone, but as Bird looked at her eyes, the word she thought of was desperate."

"What had it been like the first time Da tried to read the same page? She could almost see his finger under each word, the whisper of his voice as he sounded out the words to himself. How had he ever done that? It seemed impossible."

"He remembered everything. Maybe that was why he was such a great writer. What he remembered he'd put on paper, but it came out different, more interesting, more exciting than she'd ever been able to imagine."

"Sometimes in life you have to do the hardest things to get somewhere—to change your life."

"No one in the world like my sister Birdie."

"He was laughing again. What was it about Bird that made him do that?"

"Outside it had begun to rain, a fine mist of a rain: fall leaves were plastered to the walkway, and puddles filled with bits of hay and coal lay in the street. A nice bit to remember for the writing. Water Street! He loved to look at it."

"Writing wasn't easy for her. It wasn't like arithmetic, not like a column of numbers to be added or subtracted from the top of the blackboard to the bottom, neat and organized; or science, figuring out the why of things."

"How could she know what she wanted to do with her life? All these years she thought she'd be a healer like Mama, and now she knew it was never going to happen."

"She gives him candy. They're probably going to get married."

"How many times had she seen Annie sew in a sleeve, easing both sides so that they wouldn't pucker, taking a stitch, and smoothing out the fabric again? And now Mama was doing the same thing to someone's head. Someone's skin."

"How quiet everything was this Sunday afternoon, how still. No horse and wagon clopped down the street, no cart; no one stood on the corner talking. It was as if they were the only ones in the world."