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„I forgive you for stealing my shawl.“ She smiles as he laughs. And then she vanishes. A simple trick of distracting his attention long enough to slip out through the hall, despite the lingering temptation to stay.

Erin Morgenstern

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Erin Morgenstern
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: July 8
Novelist
Writer
Stay
Trick
Vanishes
Attention
Stealing
Lingering
Simple
Forgive
Laughs
Enough
Temptation
Slip
Long
Tricks
Smiles
Forgiving
Hall
Despite
Slips
Shawl
Laughing
Halls
Distracting

More quotes by Erin Morgenstern

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Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The future is never set in stone, remember that.
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Esse quam videri, Celia says. To be, rather than to seem.
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I binge write. I think it's because I started seriously writing by participating in National Novel Writing Month, an online-based challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days.
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Do you remember all of your audiences? Marco asks. Not all of them, Celia says. But I remember the people who look at me the way you do. What way might that be? As though they cannot decide if they are afraid of me or they want to kiss me. I am not afraid of you, Marco says.
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Comic-Con was crazy, good crazy... Five minutes after I'm done, the cast of 'Twilight' is where I was sitting.
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And now, I'm a best selling author, a different sort of fairy tale that I still sometimes wonder when I'll wake up from.
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The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.
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I don't think there's anything wrong being a dreamer.
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I am a fan of magic and fantasy, particularly when it's grounded in reality.
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I'm an emotional sort of person in general and I have a vivid imagination, so I feel the whole spectrum of emotion strongly when I write.
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Is it not that bad to be trapped somewhere, then? Depending on where you're trapped? I suppose it depends on how much you like the place you're trapped in, Widget says. And how much you like whoever you're stuck there with, Poppet adds, kicking his black boot with her white one.
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And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.
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Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.
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But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.
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The sensation reminds him of the first snow of winter, for those first few hours when everything is blanketed in white, soft and quiet.
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I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held.
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It is likely to make us think we are not caged. We cannot feel the bars unless we push against them.
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I cannot let a place that is so important to so many people fade away. Something that is wonder and comfort and mystery all together that they have nowhere else. If you had that, wouldn't you want to keep it?
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I have absurdly vivid dreams.
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Where do you get your ideas? people ask. Sometimes they’re at the bottoms of cups of tea. Sometimes they’re lurking in my shower. Sometimes they’re waiting patiently in glass cases in museums.
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