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Luck was with me. I saw no spiders. Luck was against me. I saw no specters.

Gail Carson Levine

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Gail Carson Levine
Age: 77
Born: 1947
Born: September 17
Author
Writer
New York
United States
Specters
Spiders
Luck
Saws

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A library is infinity under a roof.
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Would you favor me with a dance? Over all the others I was his choice! I curtsied, and he took my hand. Our hands knew each other. Char looked at me, startled. Have we met before, Lady?
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There's nothing wrong with reading a book you love over and over.
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And so, with laughter and love, we lived happily ever after.
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I know all about you, Char announced after we'd taken a few more steps. You do? How could you? Your cook and our cook meet at the market. She talks about you. He looked sideways at me. Do you know much about me?
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He is flawless, without a blemish. Majesic . . . muscular.
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I had always been the hardest on myself when I drew and painted. I am not hard on myself when I write. I like what I write, so it is a much happier process.
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Fate...may...be...thwarted.
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I was born singing. Most babies cry, I sang an aria.
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I trust you to find the good in me, but the bad I must be sure you don't overlook.
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I shan't marry a prince!
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Why do you keep reading a book? Usually to find out what happens. Why do you give up and stop reading it? There may be lots of reasons. But often the answer is you don't care what happens. So what makes the difference between caring and not caring? The author's cruelty. And the reader's sympathy...it takes a mean author to write a good story.
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In books and in life, you need to read several pages before someone's true character is revealed.
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He -it- was a specter! I stepped back, stunned.
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Perhaps we can come here together someday. By the way, you're a month older than the last time I saw you. Are you still too young to marry.
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I'm more interested in plot than theme, but I hope my values find their way into my stories: kindness, sympathy, effort, and humor!
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that the book is really good. and theres a prince in it to.
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I rode all day. I cried all night. The moon didn’t glow. The sun didn’t rise. A comet blazed Between my eyes. West and South, Wind and rain. Every way is Just the same. Pray give me a box To hide inside. Pray give me a spade To dig my own grave.
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I wonder how Admat can be everywhere. Is he in my sandal? Or is he my sandal itself? Why would a god bother to be a sandal? Does he wear shoes or sandals himself, invisible ones?
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But my last conscious thought was an image of Prince Char when he'd caught the bridle of Sir Stephan's horse. His face had been close to mine. Two curls had spilled onto his forehead. A few freckles dusted his nose, and his eyes said he was sorry for me to go.
Gail Carson Levine