Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
To ask a novelist to talk about his novels is like asking somebody to cook about their dancing.
There's solace in the thought that I will never finish missing her.
There is no remedy for death--or birth--except to hug the spaces in between. Live loud. Live wide. Live tall.
. . . crushed between the fears of going forward and the dread of going back.
These are the stories that we tell ourselves and only ourselves, and they are better left unshared.
Retiring from writing is not to retire from life, but retiring from writing is to avoid the inevitable bitterness which a writing career is bound to deliver as its end product, in almost every case.
She reached out and touched the king’s face, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Just a nightmare,” he said, his voice still rough. The queen’s voice was cool. “How embarrassing,” she said, looking at his maimed arm. The king looked up then, and followed her gaze. If it was embarrassing to wake like a child screaming from a nightmare, how much more embarrassing to be the reason your husband woke screaming. A quick smile visited the king’s face. “Ouch,” he said, referring to more than the pain in his side. “Ouch,” he said again as the queen gathered him into her arms.
I have a very bad relationship with mice.
His fielding leaves you wondering. Then he steps up to hit and all doubts start to fade.
Annabeth pressed her lips to Percy’s ear. “I love you. ” She wasn’t sure he could hear her—but if they died, she wanted those to be her last words.