You know,” Jackal said, kicking a rabid in the face, sending it reeling, “it seems that whenever I’m with you, I’m constantly fighting my way into places I really don’t want to be. The sewers, the Prince’s tower, a bloody freaking church.
You are my heart, my life, my entire existence.
Me? Robin Goodfellow, a family man? He, not likely, ice-boy. I mean, think of what that would do to my reputation. Glamour shimmered around him, and he gave us a wink. Later, lovebirds. Gimme a heads up when the kid arrives. ‘Uncle Puck’ will be waiting.
Eventually we will all wither and die in the wasteland of logic and science.
Fear was the knowledge of pain, the awareness that you could be hurt, that you could die.
I like all my characters in one way or another, or at least I understand them.
Overall, Id say I was an awesome bookseller, but probably not the best book shelver. I loved recommending books and helping people find books.
When I wrote my first story, all the characters were teenagers because I think 16, 17 is a great age.
It’s not the physical scars that are the most painful.
It was fine and good to be defiant to the end, but it was better not to get caught in the first place.
Do not lose your heart to a faery prince. It never ends well.
I wished that, for once, faery tales – real faery tales, not Disney fairy tales – would have a happy ending.
How easy it is to forget grudges when someone has something you need.
You don’t dwell on what you’ve lost, you just move on.
There are only those you can live with, and those you can work to change.
And I swear, if there is a way for us to be together, I will find it. No matter how long it takes. If I have to chase your soul to the ends of eternity, I won’t stop until I find you, I promise.
I get up, get coffee, and go into my home office. I check email and Twitter before I start work, but I have to try not to get too distracted.
I worked at a Books-a-Million in Louisville for several years.
I was a huge bookworm as a kid, and you could usually find me reading something with a dragon on its cover.
Robin Goodfellow, for all his pranks and mischief, was the sweetest, most noble person I’d ever known, and I’d missed him terribly.
Who knows what goes on in the mind of a cat?