I also felt guilty about the three pens I’d stolen, but only for a second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left.
To deem us simply enemies is to lose the true flavor of our relationship. It was more like the two of us entered into a business partnership in order to more efficiently pursue our mutual interest of hating each other.
Character is half the reason we read. We’re excited because of the plot, but we care because of the characters.
Roses! I swear you men have all your romance from the same worn book. Flowers are a good thing, a sweet thing to give a lady. But it is always roses, always red, and always perfect hothouse blooms when they can come by them.
Anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.
And if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that cool props and special effects are not enough. Story comes first. Everything depends on story.
I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.
Practice makes the master.
I’m not implying that fantasy is for kids. I’m saying that more and more people are finally realizing that there’s more to fantasy stories than elves and wizards and goblin armies.
If I could sum it up in 50 words, I wouldn’t have needed to write a whole novel about it.
I won the only duel I ever lost.
As a writer, I first felt successful before I was published.
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.
Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed.
In my opinion there are two basic questions that any writer tries to answer. “What is?” is the question non-fiction asks. “What if?” is the question fiction asks. That’s the question I’m more interested in.
Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn’t talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.
Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.
I am no poet. I do not love words for the sake of words. I love words for what they can accomplish. Similarly, I am no arithmetician. Numbers that speak only of numbers are of little interest to me.
The cost of a loaf is a simple thing, and so a loaf is often sought, but some things are past valuing: laughter, land, and love are never bought.
Speculative fiction is where my heart lies. It’s what I read growing up, and it’s what I read as an adult.