Only learning oneself better, and understanding one’s place in the world, made the touch of another mundane.

— N.K. Jemisin

Rising from the dead? Glowing at sunrise? What did that make him, the god of cheerful mornings and macabre surprises?

— N.K. Jemisin

She has seen him fight his own brutal nature, and the Earth itself, in order to be the parent she needs. He has helped her learn to love herself for what she is.

— N.K. Jemisin

So here is why I write what I do: We all have futures. We all have pasts. We all have stories. And we all, every single one of us, no matter who we are and no matter what’s been taken from us or what poison we’ve internalized or how hard we’ve had to work to expel it –– we all get to dream.

— N.K. Jemisin

So there was love, once. More than love. And now there is more than hate. Mortals have no words for what we gods feel. Gods have no words for such things. But love like that doesn't just disappear, does it? No matter how powerful the hate, there is always love left, underneath. Horrible, isn't it?

— N.K. Jemisin

Suffering is part of life,' she said. 'All the parts of life are jumbled up together; you can't separate out just the one thing.' She parred his hand again, kindly. 'I could let you kill me now, lovely man, and have peace and good dreams forever. But who knows what I get instead, if I stay? Maybe time to see a new grandchild. Maybe a good joke that sets me laughing for days. Maybe another handsome young fellow flirting with me.' She grinned toothless, then let loose another horrible, racking cough. Third steadies her with shaking hands. 'I want every moment of my life, pretty man, the painful and the sweet alike. Until the very end. If these are all the memories I get for eternity, I want to take as many of them with me as I can.

— N.K. Jemisin

SYL Ana gist's assimilation of the world had been over a century before I was ever made; all cities were SYL Ana gist. All languages had become Sylanagistine. But there were none so frightened, or so strange in their fear, as conquerors. They conjure phantoms endlessly, terrified that their victims will someday do back what was done to them - even if, in truth, their victims couldn't care less about such pettiness and have moved on. Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky.

— N.K. Jemisin

The body fades. A leader who would last relies on more.

— N.K. Jemisin

The children of the Fulcrum are all different: different ages, different colors, different shapes. Some speak Seine-mat with different accents, having originated from different parts of the world. One girl has sharp teeth because it is her race's custom to file them; another boy has no penis, though he stuffs a sock into his underwear after every shower; another girl has rarely had regular meals and wolves down every one like she's still starving. (The instructors keep finding food hidden in and around her bed. They make her eat it, all of it, in front of them, even if it makes her sick.) One cannot reasonably expect sameness out of so much difference, and it makes no sense for Amaya to be judged by the behavior of children who share nothing save the curse of orogeny with her.

— N.K. Jemisin

The priest's lesson: beware the Night lord, for his pleasure is a mortal's doom. My grandmother's lesson: beware love, especially with the wrong man.

— N.K. Jemisin