Juliet Marillier (born 27 July 1948) is a New Zealand-born writer of fantasy, focusing predominantly on historical fantasy.
I thought of betrayal and how it came so easily - in a word, a glance, a gesture.
This is a long goodbye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.
Nobody expects you to exhibit godlike strength, excepting maybe yourself.
I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.
I have listened to many tales in my life, and told a few of my own. If this has taught me anything, it is that there are some occurrences that change the course of things, that make an alteration far beyond their own apparent magnitude. It is like the throwing of a tiny pebble into a pool, how it makes an ever-expanding circle of ripples, spreading right across the water's surface.
The future was in our own hands. If we wanted a world where such things were possible, it was for us to make it.
I should have realized, when Cathal kissed me in the hallway, that my response was the first raindrop heralding a storm.
I wish- I wish I could dry these tears, I wish I could make this better for you. But I don't know how.
My feet will tread soft as a deer in the forest. My mind will be clear as water from the sacred well. My heart will be strong as a great oak. My spirit will spread an eagle's wings, and fly forth.
Your actions are your own. Your choices are your own. Each of us carries a burden of guilt for decisions made or not made. You can let that rule your whole life or you can put it behind you and move on. Only a madman lets jealousy determine the course of his existence. Only a weak man blames others for his own errors.
What I do. . . the path I tread. . . it brings some choices that test me hard.
My daughter," I said blankly. "I see. Correct me if I am wrong, but I thought it took a man, as well as a woman, to make a child. Is this infant's father to be a crab, or a seagull maybe? Or were you planning to shipwreck some likely sailor on my doorstep, so I can make convenient use of him?
For indeed you have a choice. You can flee and hide, and wait to be found. You can live out your days in terror, without meaning. Or you can take the harder choice, and you can save them.
If a man has to say trust me, Gogu conveyed, it's a sure sign you cannot. Trust him, that is. Trust is a thing you know without words.
The most powerful weapon is hope.
Eat of my deep earth, drink of my living streams, for I am your Mother. Your heart is my wild drum, your breath my eternal song. If you would live, dance with me!
Hope is such a tenuous quality. To feel it and then to be denied what one most longs for. . . Better, surely, not to hope at all, than to open the heart to a hope that is impossible.
You are. . . you're like a beating heart. A glowing lamp. I've never met anyone like you before.
Real life is not quite as it is in stories. In the old tales, bad things happen, and when the tale has unfolded and come to its triumphant conclusion, it is as if the bad things had never been. Life is not as simple as that, not quite.
Each of my novels features a protagonist undertaking a difficult personal journey. On the way, each of these characters - mostly female - discovers something about herself and at the same time makes an impact on other people's lives.