Franny Billingsley (born July 3, 1954) is the author of three award-winning children's fantasy novels, Well Wished, The Folk Keeper, and Chime, and the picture book Big Bad Bunny.
Let’s hope she’s like the others, who look only at the surface. Let’s hope she’d never think that a girl with black-velvet eyes and cut-glass cheekbones could be a witch.
Our English monarchs are so unimaginative,” said Eldric. “They execute people in such tediously conventional ways.
Boxing’s not that straightforward,” said Eldric. “You can practice and practice, but the real experience will always be different. Lots of things are like that, actually.
The handkerchief dabbed at my forehead. 'Ouch! You'll have a fine-looking bruise tomorrow. ' 'Then you'll be able to distinguish me from Rose. ' The handkerchief paused. 'I could tell you apart from the beginning. You're quite different to each other, you know. ' Perhaps he could tell, in the obvious ways. The odd one was Rose; the other odd one was Briony.
Witches don’t look like anything. Witches are. Witches do.
It's strange how a person can have a distinct distaste for herself, but still she clutches on to life.
A poem doesn’t come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means.
I don’t mind the disapproving ones so much. It’s the tolerant ones I can’t stand, the ones who smile at Rose, who speak to her ever so slowly and gently. They don’t realize how very intelligent Rose really is. They’re just terrifically pleased with themselves. Look at me! they all but shout. See how broad-minded I am! How wonderfully progressive, how fantastically twentieth century!
He’s harmless, poor thing. That’s what everyone said. It was true, but who cares? Lots of people are harmless, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.
You mind your tongue!” “Oh, I do,” I said. “I sharpen it every evening on your name.
I don't mean to be ungrateful but if someone's out there answering prayers, mine's not at the top of the list
It's the picnic principle. Things taste better outdoors. And if it's a forbidden thing, so much the better.
I am entirely well,” said Eldric, “which has Dr. Rannigan exploring first one theory, then another, trying to understand. But not being a man of science, I don’t care about understanding. I simply want to go outside and break a few windows.
A girl can have the face of an angel but have a horrid sort of heart.
I don't know what it is, but I ache for it each day. It's as though I have eyes, but there are colors I cannot see. As though I have ears, but there's a range of notes I cannot hear.
I've confessed to everything and I's liked to be hanged. Now, if you please
You don’t mind when he stares at you. ” Cecil jerked his head toward Eldric. "He doesn’t stare,” I said. “He looks.
When we were small, Rose and I used to play a game called connect the dots. I loved it. I loved drawing a line from dot number 1 to dot number 2 and so on. Most of all, I loved the moment when the chaotic sprinkle of dots resolved itself into a picture. That's what stories do. They connect the random dots of life into a picture. But it's all an illusion. Just try to connect the dots of life. You'll end up with a lunatic scribble.
I have some questions about betrayal,” I said. “Think about this: A person who calls you his best friend, and says he has dinner plans with you, goes off with a beautiful woman, saying he’ll be back directly, then makes you wait half an hour because he’s kissing the woman in the alley. Is that betrayal?” “Oh, Lord. ” Eldric tossed back his wine.
My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.