Astrid Quotes

“I wanted to tell her not to entertain despair like this. Despaire wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy."
-white oleander”
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

“Come live with us, Diana. Don't argue. Just say yes."
Diana looked at the ground to hide her emotions. Then she said, "Would I have to be hearing you two going at it night and day?”
― Michael Grant, Light

“Sometimes I think He looks down and says, "Wow, look what those idiots are up to now. I guess I better help them along a little.”
― Michael Grant, Gone

“Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul.
He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.”
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

“They said a lot of things to each other that night, but nothing that involved words.”
― Michael Grant Fear

“Brittney, it was wrong to murder even before Moses brought down the commandments. Right and wrong doesn't come from God. It's inside us. And we know it. And even if God appears right in front of us, and tells us to our faces to murder, it's still wrong.”
― Michael Grant Plague

“The warrior who had gone out from the lake to save his people by slaying the evil one was now just a boy sitting in the dirt with his fingers in a mane of blond hair.
He stared at nothing. Expected nothing. Planned nothing.
Just sat.”
― Michael Grant, Fear

“I didn't tell her about the free-for-alls on the school yard, muggings on the bus. A girl burned a cigarette hole in the back of another girl's shirt at nutrition right in front of me looking at me as if daring me to stop her. I saw a boy being threatened with a knife on the hallway outside my spanish class. Girls talked about their abortions in gym class. Claire didn't need to know about that. I wanted the world to be beautiful for her. I wanted things to work out. I always had a great day no matter what.”
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

“This was how girls left. They packed up their suitcases and walked away in high heels. They pretended they weren't crying, that it wasn't the worst day of their lives.”
― Janet Fitch, White Oleander

“Tell me of a happy memory, Zarek. One thing in your life that was good."

He hesitated for so long that she didn't think he would answer. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that it made her ache. "You.”
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dance with the Devil

“I will change my tomorrows with what I do today. With what I do right now.”
― Julie Eshbaugh, Crown of Oblivion

“I will change my tomorrows with what I do today. With what I do right now. - Astrid”
― Julie Eshbaugh, Crown of Oblivion

“I can’t really appreciate the stars, so beautiful against the blue-black sky, they make me want to live to see them another night. A growing part of me wishes I could stop striving for life and lie down and die, so the beauty of the stars only stokes my anger, to be honest. Stars are for people safe enough to enjoy them.”
― Julie Eshbaugh, Crown of Oblivion

“You’re not others.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
Astrid was silent for so long, Sam thought he must have upset her. Yet she never loosened her hold on him, never pulled away but kept her face buried in his neck. He felt her warm tears on his skin. And at last she said, “I love you, too.”
― Michael Grant

“What am I doing here?” she demanded, bewildered.
“You’re having dinner,” her little brother said.
“Stop it! I’m not hungry. Stop it!”
John held the spoon in front of her. His cherubic face was dark with anger. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”
“What are you talking about?” Mary demanded.
“You said you wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t leave me alone,” John said. “But you tried, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about.” She noticed Astrid then, leaning against a filing cabinet. Astrid looked like she’d been dragged through the middle of a dog fight. Little Pete was sitting cross-legged, rocking back and forth. He was chanting, “Good-bye, Nestor. Good-bye, Nestor.”
“Mary, you have an eating disorder,” Astrid said. “The secret is out. So cut the crap.”
“Eat,” John ordered, and shoved a spoonful of food in her mouth. None too gently.
“Swallow,” John ordered.
“Let me—”
“Shut up, Mary.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“Have either of you seen Sam? Brianna can’t find him.”
Albert sighed. “He’s out of town.”
Edilio felt the blood drain out of his face. “He’s what?”
Astrid arrived, coldly furious. “I’m not on the council anymore. You have no right—”
“Shut up, Astrid,” Edilio said.
Astrid, Albert, and Howard all stared. Edilio was as amazed as any of them. He considered apologizing—he had never spoken to Astrid that way. He’d never spoken to anyone that way.
The truth was he was scared. Sam was out of town? With Drake running loose?
“What makes you think Sam is out of town?” Edilio asked Albert.
“I sent him,” Albert said. “Him and Dekka. Taylor and Jack, too. They’re looking for water.”
“They’re what?”
“Looking for water.”
― Michael Grant, Plague

“Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“I was on the school bus that day. Remember?”
“Vaguely,” he said, and laughed. “My fifteen minutes of fame.”
“You were the bravest, coolest person I’d ever known. Everyone thought so. You were the hero of the whole school. And then, I don’t know. It was like you kind of just…faded.”
He resented that a little. He hadn’t faded. Had he? “Well, most days the bus driver doesn’t have a heart attack,” Sam said.
Astrid laughed. “You’re one of those people, I think. You go along in your life just sort of living. And then something goes wrong and there you are. You step up and do what you have to do. Like today, the fire.”
“Yeah, well, to tell you the truth, I kind of prefer the other part. The part where I just live my life.”
Astrid nodded like she understood, but then she said, “That’s not going to happen this time.”
― Michael Grant

“He’s becoming useless. Worse than useless,” Sam said. Then, relenting, he said, “We’ll get past it.”
“You mean you and Quinn?”
“Yeah.”
Astrid considered just keeping her mouth shut, not pushing it. But this was a talk she needed to have with Sam sooner or later. “I don’t think he’s going to get over it.”
“You don’t know him that well.”
“He’s jealous of you.”
“Well, of course I am so terribly handsome,” Sam said, straining to make a joke of it.
“He’s one kind of person, you’re another. When life is going along normally, you’re sort of the same. But when life turns strange and scary, when there’s a crisis, suddenly you’re completely different people. It’s not Quinn’s fault, really, but he’s not brave. He’s not strong. You are.”
― Michael Grant

“Guys, he’s hurt bad.”
The blonde scrambled to him. She tore the wounded boy’s shirt open. A river of blood ran down his chest.
“Oh, God, no,” the blonde cried.
Lana pushed her aside and laid a hand against the pumping wound. “He’ll live,” Lana said. “I’ll fix him.”
“What do you mean, you’ll fix him?” the blonde demanded. “We need stitches, we need a doctor. Look at how he’s bleeding.”
Lana said, “What’s your name?”
“Astrid, what does it matter? He’s…” She stopped talking then and leaned in close to see. “The bloodflow is slowing.”
“Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Lana said dryly. “Relax. He’ll be fine. In fact…” She tilted her head to get a better look at him. “In fact, I’ll bet when he’s not covered in blood, he’s cute. Your boyfriend?”
“That’s not what it’s about,” Astrid snapped. Then, in a low voice, like she didn’t want the others to hear, she said, “Kind of.”
― Michael Grant

“...you have me,” Astrid said.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
That drained the anger and frustration from him like someone had pulled a plug. For a long moment he was lost, gazing into her eyes. She was very close. His heart shifted to a deeper rhythm that vibrated his whole body.
There were just inches between them. He closed the distance by half, stopped.
“I can’t kiss you with your little brother watching,” he said.
Astrid stepped back, took Little Pete by the shoulders, and turned him so he was facing away.
“How about now?”
― Michael Grant

“We’re here to execute a murderer,” Zil said, pointing at Hunter. “We are bringing justice in the name of all normals.”
“There’s no justice without a trial,” Astrid said.
Zil grinned. He spread his hands. “We had a trial, Astrid. And this chud scum was found guilty of murdering a normal.
“The penalty,” he added, “is death.”
Astrid turned to face the mob. “If you do this, you’ll never forgive yourselves.”
“We’re hungry,” a voice cried, and was immediately echoed by others.
“You’re going to murder a boy in a church?” Astrid demanded, pointing toward the church. “A church? In God’s house?”
Zil could see that those words had an effect. There were some nervous looks.
“You will never wash the stain of this off your hands,” Astrid cried. “If you do this, you will never be able to forget it. What do you think your parents would say?”
“There are no parents in the FAYZ. No God, either,” Zil said. “There’s just humans trying to stay alive, and freaks taking everything for themselves.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“We’ve searched all of the homes and carried the food to Ralph’s,” Sam continued. “The problem is that all the fruit and veggies spoiled while we were all filling up on chips and cookies. The meat all rotted. People were stupid and careless, and there’s nothing we can do about that now.” Sam swallowed the bitterness he felt, the anger he felt at his own foolishness. “But we have food sitting out in the fields. Maybe not the food we’d like, but enough to carry us for months—many months—if we bring it in before it rots and the birds eat it.”
“Maybe we’ll get rescued, and we won’t have to worry,” another voice said.
“Maybe we’ll learn to live on air,” Astrid muttered under her breath but loudly enough to be heard by at least a few.
“Why don’t you go get our food back from Drake and the chuds up there?”
It was Zil. He accepted a congratulatory slap on the back from a creepy kid named Antoine, part of Zil’s little posse.
“Because it would mean getting some kids killed,” Sam said bluntly. “We’d be lucky to rescue any of the food, and we’d end up digging more graves in the plaza. And it wouldn’t solve our problem, anyway.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“What is the matter with people?” Sam fumed. “I said we needed a hundred kids and we get thirteen? Fifteen, maybe?”
“They’re just kids,” Astrid said.
“We’re all just kids. We’re all going to be very hungry kids.”
“They’re used to being told what to do by their parents or teachers. You need to be more direct. As in, Hey, kid, get to work. Now.” She thought for a moment then added, “Or else.”
“Or else what?” Sam asked.
“Or else…I don’t know. We’re not going to let anyone starve. If we can help it. I don’t know the ‘or else.’ All I know is you can’t expect kids to just automatically behave the right way. I mean, when I was little my mom would give me a gold star when I was good and take away a privilege when I wasn’t.”
“What am I supposed to do? Tell three hundred kids spread out in seventy or eighty different homes that they can’t watch DVDs? Confiscate iPods?”
“It’s not easy playing daddy to three hundred kids,” Astrid admitted.
“I’m not anyone’s daddy,” Sam practically snarled. Another sleepless night, in a long string of them, had left him in a foul mood. “I’m supposed to be the mayor, not the father.”
“These kids don’t know the difference,” Astrid pointed out. “They need parents. So they look to you. And Mother Mary. Me, even, to some extent.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“Mother Mary wants to draft two more kids,” Astrid told Sam.
“Okay. Approved.”
“Dahra says we’re running low on kids’ Tylenol and kids’ Advil, she wants to make sure it’s okay to start giving them split adult pills.”
Sam spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “What?”
“We’re running low on kid pills, Dahra wants to split adult pills.”
Sam rocked back in the leather chair designed for a grown man. “Okay. Whatever. Approved.” He took a sip of water from a bottle. The wrapper on the bottle said “Dasani” but it was tap water. The dishes from dinner—horrible homemade split-pea soup that smelled burned, and a quarter cabbage each—had been pushed aside onto the sideboard where in the old days the mayor of Perdido Beach had kept framed pictures of his family. It was one of the better meals Sam had had lately. The fresh cabbage tasted surprisingly good.
There was little more than smears on the plates: the era of kids not eating everything was over.
Astrid puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “Kids are asking why Lana isn’t around when they need her.”
“I can only ask Lana to heal big things. I can’t demand she be around 24/7 to handle every boo-boo.”
Astrid looked at the list she had compiled on her laptop. “Actually, I think this involved a stubbed toe that ‘hurted.’”
“How much more is on the list?” Sam asked.
“Three hundred and five items,” Astrid said. When Sam’s face went pale, she relented. “Okay, it’s actually just thirty-two. Now, don’t you feel relieved it’s not really three hundred?”
“This is crazy,” Sam said.
“Next up: the Judsons and the McHanrahans are fighting because they share a dog, so both families are feeding her—they still have a big bag of dry dog food—but the Judsons are calling her Sweetie and the McHanrahans are calling her BooBoo.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding,” Astrid said.
“What is that noise?” Sam demanded.
Astrid shrugged. “I guess someone has their stereo cranked up.”
“This is not going to work, Astrid.”
“The music?”
“This. This thing where every day I have a hundred stupid questions I have to decide. Like I’m everyone’s parent now. I’m sitting here listening to how little kids are complaining because their older sisters make them take a bath, and stepping into fights over who owns which Build-A-Bear outfit, and now over dog names. Dog names?”
“They’re all still just little kids,” Astrid said.
“Some of these kids are developing powers that scare me,” Sam grumbled. “But they can’t decide who gets to have which special towel? Or whether to watch The Little Mermaid or Shrek Three?”
“No,” Astrid said. “They can’t. They need a parent. That’s you.”
― Michael Grant, Hunger

“Why are we sneaking out in the night?” Jack repeated.
“I already explained,” Sam snapped. “If you don’t listen—”
Taylor jumped in to say, “Because otherwise Astrid would find some way to stop him.” She mimicked Astrid’s voice, injecting it with steel and a tense, condescending tone. “Sam. I am the smartest, hottest girl in the world. So do what I tell you. Good boy. Down, boy. Down!”
Sam remained silent, walking steadily just a few feet ahead.
Taylor continued, “Oh, Sam, if only you could be as smart plus as totally goody-goody as I am. If only you could realize that you will never be good enough to have me, me, wonderful me, Astrid the Blond Genius.”
“Sam, can I shoot her now?” Dekka asked. “Or is it too soon?”
“Wait until we’re over the ridge,” Sam said. “It’ll muffle the sound.”
“Sorry, Dekka,” Taylor said. “I know you don’t like talking about boy-girl things.”
“Taylor,” Sam warned.
“Yes, Sam?”
“You might want to think about how hard it would be to walk if someone were to turn off gravity under your feet every now and then.”
“I wonder who would do that?” Dekka said.
Suddenly Taylor fell flat on her face.
“You tripped me!” Taylor said, more shocked than angry.
“Me?” Dekka spread her hands in a completely unconvincing gesture of innocence. “Hey, I’m all the way over here.”
“I’m just saying: you can see where that could make a long walk just a lot longer,” Sam said.
“You guys are so not fun,” Taylor grumped. She bounced instantaneously to just behind Sam. She grabbed his butt, he yelled, “Hey!” and she bounced away innocently.
“To answer your question, Jack,” Sam said, “we are sneaking out at night so that everyone doesn’t know we’re gone and why. They’ll figure it out soon enough, but Edilio will have to have more of his guys on the streets if I’m not there playing the big, bad wolf. More stress for everyone.”
“Oh,” Jack said.
“The big, bad wolf,” Taylor said. She laughed. “So, when you play that fantasy in your head is Astrid Little Red Riding Hood or one of the Three Little Pigs?”
“Dekka,” Sam said.
“Hah! Too slow!”
― Michael Grant, Plague

“Her face distressed, Astrid handed him off to Zarek. "Menoeceus wants his father."

Zarek glared at her. "Bob is crying because he wants his mother to stop calling him that crap-ass name." Zarek cuddled the small boy to him as he rocked him gently against his shoulder while he continued to wail. Loudly. "It's all right, Bob. Daddy's got you now. I'm saving you from Mommy's bad naming taste. I'd be crying, too, if my mom named me after an idiot."

"Menoeceus is a great name," Astrid said defensively.

Zarek snorted. "For an old man or a feminine hygiene product. Not for my son. And next time I get to name the kid and it won't be something that sounds like meningitis."

Astrid stood with her hands on her hips, toe to toe with her husband. "You keep that up and next time you'll be the one birthing it, and don't mess with me, bucko, I have connections in that department. A pregnant man is not an impossibility in my neighborhood."

She started away from him.

"Yeah, well, I'll be glad to birth it if it means I can name him something normal," Zarek called after her.”
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dream Warrior

“Stars are for people safe enough to enjoy them.”
― Julie Eshbaugh, Crown of Oblivion

“Beside him, Astrid chattered on about the amount of gore and impropriety found in the Bible, and how she always thought it a wonderful punishment to copy verses out of the Old Testament.”
― Grace Burrowes, Gareth: Lord of Rakes