Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly [Quotes]

For Oh, how it grieves me to think that Orleans might be right.

How it grieves me to think that they world always wins.

*

I look up at him. “Where did you come from?” I ask him.

He raises his rifle again, presses the barrel to my forehead. I feel blood running down my cheek. Pictures flash before my eyes. Pictures of monks on fire. Of bodies in a pit. Of napalmed children running down a dirt road. I push the barrel away and get to my feet. I hold my guitar with one hand and wipe the blood off of my face with the other.

“A decent man. Just doing your job,” I say to him. “You were always here. And you always will be.”

*

“I don’t like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It’s the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It’s bad news. The worst. It’s sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it’s only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.”

*

“It goes on, this world, stupid and brutal.
But I do not.
I do not.”

*

“I’m wishing he could see that music lives. Forever. That it’s stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.”

*

“I will go out again this very night with my rockets and fuses. I will blow them straight out of their comfortable beds. Blow the rooftops off their houses. Blow the black, wretched night to bits. I will not stop. For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.”

*

“History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.”

*

“I will rain down silver and gold for you. I will shatter the black night, break it open, and pour out a million stars. Turn away from the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and know that I am here. That I remember and hope. Open your eyes and look at the light.”

*

“I play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I’m lost in the music. Until I am the music–notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it’s okay because when I’m the music, I’m not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.”

*

“Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that’s why I did it….Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.”

*

“It’s a good thing you and your pills weren’t around a few hundred years ago or there never would have been a Vermeer or a Caravaggio. You’d have drugged “Girl with a Pearl Earring” and “The Taking of Christ” right the hell out of them.”

*

“One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren’t for decent people.”

*

“And Robespierre, the Incorruptible, who loved us so much he cut off our heads so we would not be troubled by too many thoughts”

*

“There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now – white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.”

*

“Because I’m on the phone, Mom!”
“Fooling around with your friends again! Who is that?”
“Ahmadinejad.”
“Oh, my goodness! What is he saying?”
“That he wants to see Jeezy at the Beacon tonight. Putin’s going too. He scalped a ticket from Kim Jong Il. All tha gangstas are going.”
“Don’t be so fresh, young man!”
“Gotta go,” he says to me. “Enemy forces have dropped a Momshell.”
“Fall back, solider. Over and out.”

*

“The rain comes down harder as I write. It sheets off the roof in torrents. I wish it would pound against me. Pound the life from my body. The flesh from my bones. The pain from my heart.”

*

“The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God’s touch – under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you’ve never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.”

*

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One thought on “Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly [Quotes]

  1. Pingback: Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly | thebookboozer

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