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And they always slept better with blades beneath their beds.

Cinda Williams Chima

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Cinda Williams Chima
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Springfield
Ohio
Beds
Slept
Blades
Beneath
Bed
Better
Always

More quotes by Cinda Williams Chima

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You do not respond to an attempt on your life with a slap on the hand. Or a joke.
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You couldn’t keep your mouth shut? I’m calling you Glitterhair from now on. Or Talksalot.
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Well now, Jack, Hastings said from the sidelines. I'm afraid you've been beheaded. Not a good start. He sounded amused.
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My tagline is ‘Less sex, more romance, lower body count.’
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I need to go to parties, Raisa mused, so I don't think so much.
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History,' Mari muttered, as if she'd overheard his thoughts. 'Why do we need to know what happened before we were born?' 'So hopefully we get smarter and don't make the same mistakes again.
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It was a peculiar marriage of interests- Lord Averill and Captain Byrne and Lord Bayar and Han Alister agreeing on anything was as rare as gold in Ragmarket.
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His aster-blue eyes shown out from a face blackened by bruises and soot, his fair hair glittering in the firelight. Dressed all in black, silhouetted against flame, he looked rather like a demon, raised from the dead, trading for souls on the other side.
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Tears stung her eyes. She sank her knees next to the sleeping bench and gently raked strands of golden hair from him forehead. Don't you die. don't you dare. I forbid it. As if Han Alister had ever listened to anything she said.
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He keeps this up, he's bound to be caught, she thought. And this time they'll dangle him for certain.
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But I don't want your throne. Then what do you want? You.
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She had never felt more alive than when she lay dying in Han Alister's arms.
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You didn't have to go to the fireworks with him. Or - or let him fondle you. Fondle? Raisa raised her eyebrows, When did I mention fondling?
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There's something about a roof isn't there? It makes you feel like it doesn't matter what's going on below. All of those things that get in the way of your dreams - you're above them. Anything is possible.
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Her clothes still smoked from the wizard’s assault. But to him, she always smelled of flowers.
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Will you give the girl to me? she said. Will you let me try? He nodded, dizzy with relief. Please, Willo. Please. Save her. It doesn't matter...what happens to me.
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One more thing: Linda, can you get to Canterbury and take over my Chaucerian Society? They're at Dovecote Hostelry in the old city. We're visiting all the scenes of the great murders. Tomorrow they want to see where Becket was killed. They're a bloodthirsty lot, it seems.
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And it's not just a matter of you hurting me. I will hurt you too, even if I don't want to, I'm not the girl you think I am. And you will remember this conversation , and wish that you'd listened to me.
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A fiction writer is never entirely alone. Her characters are constantly whispering in her ear.
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That's what happens when you love someone... you notice and notice and notice.
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