Quotes from Beautiful Malice

Rebecca James ·  272 pages

Rating: (6.5K votes)


“The trouble with words is that no matter how much sense they make in theory, they can’t change what you feel inside.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


“And when I look into his eyes there’s a feeling of something I can only describe as familiarity, a sense of safety. Like coming home.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


“Katherine:Anyway, if you're not bad, you can't be good.
Robbie:What? You have to be bad to be good? That's stupid. It doesn't make any sense at all.
Katherine:No. It doesn't, does it? What I mean was that if you see the bad in yourself, and dislike it, and try not to feel it, then that's good. Nobody's really good through and through. At least I don't think so. Trying to be good, or at least trying not to be bad, is probably as close as we can get.
Robbie:Maybe you're right.
Katherine:Maybe I am...”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


“True. But your're sad."
I sit up. "Am I?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
He laughs. "I am if you are. I'm not if you're not.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


“Nadie es completamente bueno de pies a cabeza. Al menos yo no lo creo. Intentar ser bueno, o al menos intentar no ser malo, es lo más parecido a ser buenos.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice



“Truth or Dare?" she asks. I hesitate. "Truth," I say finally. "I can imagine one of your dares, and I don’t fancy running down Oxford Street naked tonight."

"Truth," Alice says slowly, drawing out the vowel sound as if she’s savouring the word. "Are you sure? Are you sure you can be completely honest?"

"I think so. Try me."

"Okay" And then she looks at me curiously. "So. Were you glad, deep down? Were you glad to be rid of her? Your perfect sister? Were you secretly glad when she died?"

Katherine has moved away from her shattered family to start afresh in Sydney. There she keeps her head down until she is befriended by the charismatic, party-loving Alice, who brings her out of her shell. But there is a dark side to Alice, something seductive yet threatening. And as Katherine learns the truth about Alice, their tangled destinies spiral to an explosive and devastating finale.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


“Katherine,” he says when we finish. We’re breathing each other’s air and lying side by side, our noses almost touching.
“Mick,” I say.
“I love your name. It suits you perfectly. Katherine. Katherine. Katherine and Mick.”
And when he says my name like that, right next to his, everything is different. I’ve never really liked being called Katherine—all this time, despite what I’ve said, I’ve desperately missed being called Katie. I’ve missed being Katie.
But I’m no longer Katie, I’m Katherine—and tonight, for the first time ever, I don’t want to be anyone else.”
― Rebecca James, quote from Beautiful Malice


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About the author

Rebecca James
Born place: in Sydney, Australia
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― Timothy Findley, quote from Pilgrim


“Past the flannel plains and blacktop graphs and skylines of canted rust, and past the tobacco-brown river overhung with weeping trees and coins of sunlight through them on the water downriver, to the place beyond the windbreak, where untilled fields simmer shrilly in the A.M. heat: shattercane, lamb's-quarter, cutgrass, sawbrier, nutgrass, jimsonweed, wild mint, dandelion, foxtail, muscadine, spinecabbage, goldenrod, creeping charlie, butter-print, nightshade, ragweed, wild oat, vetch, butcher grass, invaginate volunteer beans, all heads gently nodding in a morning breeze like a mother's soft hand on your cheek. An arrow of starlings fired from the windbreak's thatch. The glitter of dew that stays where it is and steams all day. A sunflower, four more, one bowed, and horses in the distance standing rigid and still as toys. All nodding. Electric sounds of insects at their business. Ale-colored sunshine and pale sky and whorls of cirrus so high they cast no shadow. Insects all business all the time. Quartz and chert and schist and chondrite iron scabs in granite. Very old land. Look around you. The horizon trembling, shapeless. We are all of us brothers.

Some crows come overhead then, three or four, not a murder, on the wing, silent with intent, corn-bound for the pasture's wire beyond which one horse smells at the other's behind, the lead horse's tail obligingly lifted. Your shoes' brand incised in the dew. An alfalfa breeze. Socks' burrs. Dry scratching inside a culvert. Rusted wire and tilted posts more a symbol of restraint than a fence per se. NO HUNTING. The shush of the interstate off past the windbreak. The pasture's crows standing at angles, turning up patties to get at the worms underneath, the shapes of the worms incised in the overturned dung and baked by the sun all day until hardened, there to stay, tiny vacant lines in rows and inset curls that do not close because head never quite touches tail. Read these.”
― David Foster Wallace, quote from The Pale King


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