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Peter S. Beagle Biography

Peter S. Beagle

Peter Soyer Beagle (born April 20, 1939) is an American novelist and screenwriter, especially fantasy fiction. His best-known work is The Last Unicorn (1968), a fantasy novel he wrote in his twenties, which Locus subscribers voted the number five "All-Time Best Fantasy Novel" in 1987. During the last twenty-five years he has won several literary awards, including a World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 2011. He was named Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master by the SFWA in 2018.

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Peter S. Beagle Quotes

It’s a rare man who is taken for what he truly is.

Man, Men, Rare, Taken, Unicorn

Never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention.

Attention, Immortal, Run, Running, Serious

He thought, or said, or sang, I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full.

Empty, Full, Know, Knows, Said, Thought

He had never missed God or the hope of heaven, but he had dearly wanted confession to rest his mind, Communion to let him touch something beyond Father Krone's dry, shaky hand, and holy water to taste like starlight.

Dearly, Father, Hands, Holy, Shaky, Water

Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale.

Hero, Inspirational, Part, Tale, Unnoticed, Writing

I am afraid! It is not starving I fear, or talking to people, or even being alone. But I cannot bear to be useless and ineffectual. There must be some meaning to me, if not to my life; there must surely be some purpose that has my name written on it. If this is not so, if I am deceiving myself about this too, then why should I want to become real? What reason have I to live anywhere?

Live, Names, People, Real, Talking, Written

Farewell,' she said. 'I hope you hear many more songs' - which was the best way she could think of to say good-bye to a butterfly.

Butterfly, Farewell, Said, Song

What is plucked will grow again, What is slain lives on, What is stolen will remain-- What is gone is gone.

Gone, Grows, Lives, Plucked, Slain, Stolen

What do men know? Because they have seen no unicorns for a while does not mean we have all vanished.

Doe, Mean, Men, Unicorns, Vanished

Writing has nothing to do with publishing. Nothing. People get totally confused about that. You write because you have to - you write because you can't not write. The rest is show-business. I can't state that too strongly. Just write - worry about the rest of it later, if you worry at all. What matters is what happens to you while you're writing the story, the poem, the play. The rest is show-business.

Confused, Happens, People, Strongly, What Matters, Writing

But what I thought, and what I still think, and always will, is that she saw me. Nobody else has ever seen me — me, Jenny Gluckstein — like that. Not my parents, not Julian, not even Meena. Love is one thing — recognition is something else.

Julian, Love Is, Meena, Parent, Think, Thinking

Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.

Back, Expect, Life, Magic, Real, Sacrifice

And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where where you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?

Come, Dare, Ten, Twenties, Years

Ah, love may be strong, but a habit is stronger, And I knew when I loved by the way I behaved.

Habit, Loved, May, Strong, Way

How's the Angel of Death supposed to do his job with clipped wings?

Angel, Job, Jobs, Wings

You pile of stones, you waste, you desolation, I'll stuff you with misery till it comes out of your eyes. I'll change your heart into green grass, and all you love into a sheep. I'll turn you into a bad poet with dreams.

Desolation, Dream, Eye, Heart, Pile, Sheep

I suppose I could understand it if men had simply forgotten unicorns, but not to see them at all, to look at them and see something else — what do they look to one another, then? What do trees look like to them, or houses, or real horses, or their own children?

Children, Horse, Look, Real, Suppose, Trees

The last unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone.

Alone, Lasts, Lilac, Lived, Unicorn, Woods

Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of anything. Whatever you have been, you are mine now. I can hold you.

Afraid, Fear, Has Beens, Hold, Mines

The horns came riding in like the rainbow masts of silver ships.

Came, Horns, Horny, Like, Rainbow, Riding

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