Scott Westerfeld Quotes

You have to prove to New York that you really want to live here.

How come you forget English when you swear?

About Author

Scott David Westerfeld (born May 5, 1963) is an American writer of young adult fiction, best known as the author of the Uglies and the Leviathan series.

The beauty of the world…has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.—Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own (part 3, Pretties)

I read that the real Cleopatra wasn’t even that great-looking. She seduced everyone with how clever she was. Yeah, right. And you’ve seen a picture of her? They didn’t have cameras back then, Squint....

Your book is smart and beautiful. I want to have its sequels.

The night went on like this, a mix of serious talk, utter bullshit, self-promotion, and slumber-party giddiness.

Their reasons don't mean anything unless I have a choice.

You’re still yourself on the inside, Shay. But when you’re pretty, people pay more attention. Not everyone thinks that way.

The sight of Ethan - of Scam, since this was a mission - sent a trickle of annoyance down Crash's spine. Not like all the little itches of tech, just the ever-present need to punch him in the face.

That girl in the painting looks so fierce, so strong. I want her to be the truth of me.

It's not the traveling that takes courage Tally. I've done much longer trips on my own. It's leaving home.

Let me get this stright, Aya-Chan. You want me, a person who can't lie, to lie about the fact that I can't lie? -Frizz mizuno

Listen, you bubblehead-up-until-five-minutes-ago...

Maybe that was the point of truth--you could erase it all you wanted, and it was there to be discovered again

Maybe that was the point of truth-you could erase it all you wanted, and it was there was to be discovered again.

Maybe that was why she was helping Madeleine. She was a manipulative bitch, but Dess couldn't imagine living in any other reality than the one those manipulations had created. In a way, Dess owed the...

The beauty of the world . . . has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. —Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

Maybe this was how you stayed sane in wartime: a handful of noble deeds amid the chaos.

The opening chapter was the book's unique selling point, the singular idea that had carried Darcy through last November, and Coleman had just come up with it off the top of his head.

Real life doesn’t have many happy endings. Why shouldn’t books make up the difference?