My good lady,’ interrupted Clent, ‘are you telling me that he is not the Luck? That you have in some way obfuscated the chronology of his nativity?’ …

- Frances Hardinge

Mosca said nothing. The word ‘damsel’ rankled with her. She suddenly thought of the clawed girl from the night before, jumping the filch on an icy st…

- Frances Hardinge

Truth is dangerous. It topples palaces and kills kings. It stirs gentle men to rage and bids them take up arms. It wakes old grievances and opens for…

- Frances Hardinge

The world is like a broken wrist that healed the wrong way, and will never be the same again.

- Frances Hardinge

We always find it difficult to forgive our heroes for being human.

- Frances Hardinge

Everybody knew that books were dangerous. Read the wrong book, it was said, and the words crawled around your brain on black legs and drove you mad, …

- Frances Hardinge

If wits were pins, the man would be a veritable hedgehog.

- Frances Hardinge

My dear fellow," he continued more soberly, "If you have managed to complicate things by forming a sentimental attachment in less than a week, then I…

- Frances Hardinge

You, sir, are a romantic, and I'm afraid the condition is incurable. -Eponymous Clent

- Frances Hardinge