Citas de Un monstruo viene a verme

You do not write your life with words...You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.

There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.

Stories are wild creatures, the monster said. When you let them loose, who knows what havoc they might wreak?.

Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.

Don't think you haven't lived long enough to have a story to tell.

Stories are important, the monster said. They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.

Stories are the wildest things of all, the monster rumbled. Stories chase and bite and hunt.

I wish I had a hundred years, she said, very quietly. A hundred years I could give to you.

Stories don't always have happy endings." This stopped him. Because they didn't, did they? That's one thing the monster had definitely taught him. Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.

There was once an invisible man who had grown tired of being unseen. It was not that he was actually invisible. It was that people had become used to not seeing him. And if no one sees you, are you really there at all?".

You were merely wishing for the end of pain, the monster said. Your own pain. An end to how it isolated you. It is the most human wish of all.

Sometimes people need to lie to themselves most of all.

Conor held tightly onto his mother. And by doing so, he could finally let her go.

If you speak the truth, the monster whispered in his ear, you will be able to face whatever comes.

The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.

And if one day,' she said, really crying now, 'you look back and you feel bad for being so angry, if you feel bad for being so angry at me that you couldn't even speak to me, then you have to know, Conor, you have to that is was okay. It was okay. That I knew. I know, okay? I know everything you need to tell me without you having to say it out loud.

But what is a dream, Conor O'Malley? the monster said, bending down so it's face was close to Conor's. Who is to say that it is not everything else that is the dream?.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your grandma, not your dad, no one. And if you need to break things, then by God, you break them good and hard.

The justifications of men who kill should always be heard with skepticism, said the monster.

Who am I? the monster repeated, still roaring. I am the spine that the mountains hang upon! I am the tears that the rivers cry! I am the lungs that breathe the wind! I am the wolf that kills the stag, the hawk that kills the mouse, the spider that kills the fly! I am the stag, the mouse and the fly that are eaten! I am the snake of the world devouring its tail! I am everything untamed and untameable! It brought Conor up close to its eye. I am thils wild earth, come for you, Conor O'Malley. "You look like a tree," Conor said.

Many things that are true feel like a cheat. Kingdoms get the princes they deserve, farmers’ daughters die for no reason, and sometimes witches merit saving. Quite often, actually. You’d be surprised.

Four lines, and the world went quiet. I'm sorry for telling everyone about your mum, read the first line. I miss being your friend, read the second. Are you okay? read the third. I see you, read the fourth, with the I underlined about a hundred times.

Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.

Conor was no longer invisible. They all saw him now. But he was further away than ever.

And here was a man who lived on belief, but who sacrificed it at the first challenge, right when he needed it most.

You think I tell you stories to teach you lessons? the monster said. You think I have coming walking out of time and earth itself to teach you a lesson in niceness?.

Because I'm not blind to how Harry works, you know," she said. "A bully with charisma and top marks is still a bully." She sighed, annoyed. "He'll probably end up Prime Minister one day. God help us all.

Belief is half of all healing.

Who cares even if I didn't?!" Conor shouted back. "They're just stupid berries. Woo-hoo, so scary. Oh, please, please, save me from the berries!" The monster looked at him quizzically. How strange, it said. The words you say tell me you are scared of the berries, but your actions seems to suggest otherwise.

You know that your truth, the one that you hide… is the thing you are most afraid of.

After he killed the farmer's daughter, said the monster, the prince lay down next to her and returned to sleep. When he awoke, he acted out a pantomime should anyone be watching. But also, it may surprise you to learn, for himself. The monster's branches creaked. Sometimes people need to lie to themselves most of all.

He was greedy and rude and bitter, but he was still a healer. The parson, though, what was he? He was nothing. Belief is half of all healing. Belief in the cure, belief in the future that awaits. And here was a man who lived on belief, but who sacrificed it at the first challenge, right when he needed it most. He believed selfishly and fearfully. And it took the lives of his daughters.

Stories don’t end with the writers, however many started the race.

One hundred and fifty years ago, the monster began, this country had become a place of industry. Factories grew on the landscape like weeds. Trees fell, fields were up-ended, rivers blackened. The sky choked on smoke and ash, and the people did, too, spending their days coughing and itching, their eyes turned forever toward the ground. Villages grew into town, towns into cities. And people began to live on the earth rather than within it.

He was still alive. Which was the worst thing that could have happened.

And a part of you wished it would just end, said the monster, even if it meant losing her.

We work so hard to get rid of them when sometimes they’re the very thing that saves us.

As destruction goes, the monster said behind him, this is all remarkably pitiful.

There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one.

Many things that are true feel like a cheat.

Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a parson be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?.

Connor:I let her go. I could have held on but I let her go. The Monster:And that is the truth. Connor:I didn't mean it, though! I didn't mean to let her go! And now it's for real! Now she's going to die and it's my fault! The Monster:And that is not the truth at all.

And now it's time to hand the baton to you. Stories don't end with writer, however many started the race. So go. Run with it. Make trouble.

The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you were desperate for me to save her. Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.

Here is the hardest hit of all, O'Malley," Harry said. "Here is the very worst thing I can do to you." He held out his hand, as if asking for a handshake. He was asking for a handshake. Conor responded almost automatically, putting out his own hand and shaking Harry's before he even thought about what he was doing. They shook hands like two businessmen at the end of a meeting. "Goodbye, O'Malley," Harry said, looking into Conor's eyes. "I no longer see you.

Stories are the wildest things of all, the monster rumbled. Stories chase and bite and hunt. That's what teachers always say, Conor said. No one believes them either.

You’re as old as the land and you’ve never heard of sarcasm?.

Because humans are complicated beasts," the monster said.

So the good prince was a murderer and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all.

But what is a dream...?...Who is to say that it is not everything else that is the dream?.

But how do you fight it?" Conor asked, his voice rough. "How do you fight all the different stuff inside?" By speaking the truth, the monster said. As you spoke it just now.

Belief is half of healing.

Conor looked down at his hands, finally unclenching them. "Because what I thought was so wrong." It was not wrong, the monster said, It was only a thought, one of a million. It was not an action.

Even though it walked and talked, even though it was bigger than his house and could swallow him in one bite, the monster was still, at the end of the day, just a yew tree.

The parson refused to believe the Apothecary could help, said the monster. When times were easy, the parson nearly destroyed the Apothecary, but when the going grew tough, he was willing to throw aside every belief if it would save his daughters. "So?" Conor said. "So would anyone! So would everyone! What did you expect him to do?.

You know that is not true, the monster said. You know that your truth, the one that you hide, Conor O’Malley, is the thing you are most afraid of.

Now that, said the monster, is how destruction is properly done.

Conor O’Malley who needs to be punished. And why is that, Conor O’Malley? What secrets do you hide that are so terrible?.

A bully with charisma and top marks is still a bully. He'll probably end up Prime Minister one day. God help us all.

He blamed Lily, because who else was there?.

Son" his father said, leaning forward. "Stories don't always have happy endings." This stopped him. Because they didn't, did they? That's one thing the monster had definitely taught him. Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.

And if no one sees you, are you really there at all?.

He was no longer invisible. They all saw him now. But he was further away than ever.

Never invisible again, the monster said, finally letting up, its huge branch-like fists curled tight as a clap of thunder. It turned to Conor. But there are harder things than being invisible, it said.

There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere inbetween.

No one knew. Then Lily’s mum knew, of course. Then Lily knew. And then everyone knew. Everyone. Which changed the whole world in a single day. And he was never going to forgive her for that.

You are the one who called me, Conor O’Malley, it said, looking at him seriously. You are the one with the answers to these questions.