Happy children do not seem to grow up to be writers.
I don’t care how the sin ledger stands. There seem to be a number of artificial standards of good and evil that don’t really relate to true merit or demerit. Maybe the official system of classification has failed to keep up with the changing nature of our society.
A mortal person’s mind is like a wilderness, with a tremendous volume of decaying constructs and half-understood experience forming natural harbors for wild animal effects.
When you have something you would die to protect it ceases to be a matter of courage.” Niobe explained, “You just know what you have to do and you can’t afford fear.
But I’ve been dead much longer than I lived, and I have had the chance to educate myself in that that I lacked in life. I wasn’t stupid when I lived, just ignorant. There’s a lot to learn, simply by watching the follies of the living.
God created the earth but the Devil evolved it.
Now you must excuse your Raja for he must suffer to give audience to the prince of Punt, a pompous old fool, who believes that his frequent flatulencies are the echoes of the Gods applauding his non sequiturs.
All true art stems from the depths of the unconscious mind.
Wenda’s chest and hips shrank, her shoulders and arms turned muscular and her body became lean and hard where it had been rounded and soft. The hair of her head shortened drastically, and a mustache sprouted on her upper lip. Her delicate human feet had become hard hooves. She was now not a nymph but a faun. Physically; she would never be male in spirit.
Hell hath little fury like that of a critic who sees a writer make it big.
Your teacher didn’t lie to you. A centaur never lies. He merely edited his information, on orders from the King, so as not to force on the impressionable minds of children things their parents did not want them to hear. Education has ever been thus.
Not any more. Not according to Glory Goblin or Brontes the Cyclops. Imbri merely confirms that Hugo has perfected his talent, and is now a good deal smarter and handsomer than before. A woman has to be responsible.
William Henley put it: It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
I think that man was half-right. He is better off out of the game – but the game may not be better off without him. A man should not exist for himself alone. Life made an investment in him, and that investment was not paid off.
Good intentions were not enough; they had to be rationally implemented.
But I have so much to learn!” Zane cried plaintively. “Then get to it, Death,” she said, closing the door behind her.
It was said that familiarity bred contempt, but surely ignorance bred error.
Dor wondered whether, if he should ever happen to be a ghost for eight hundred years, zombies might begin to look good to him. He doubted it.
The Magician charges a year’s service. You – would not want to pay.” The Good Magician was male, and Wynne had only one obvious coin. No one would be interested in her mind.
What splendor nature proffered to the eye of any man who had half the wit to appreciate it!
Only in Xanth would parents see a dragon looming over their children and depart with confidence.