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To pretend I was sliding down the stair rail. He laughed again. You should have done it. I would have caught you at the bottom.

Gail Carson Levine

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Gail Carson Levine
Age: 77
Born: 1947
Born: September 17
Author
Writer
New York
United States
Done
Stair
Would
Sliding
Rail
Stairs
Laughed
Pretend
Caught
Bottom

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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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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 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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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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Although we didn't invite Lucinda, she arrived anyway-with a gift. No need, Char and I chimed together. Remember when you were a squirrel, Mandy said.
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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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Luck was with me. I saw no spiders. Luck was against me. I saw no specters.
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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 bowed. 'The young lady must not dance alone.
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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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A library is infinity under a roof.
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that the book is really good. and theres a prince in it to.
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It is helpful to know the proper way to behave, so one can decide whether or not to be proper.
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I was born singing. Most babies cry, I sang an aria.
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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.
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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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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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He is flawless, without a blemish. Majesic . . . muscular.
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When I write, I make discoveries about my feelings.
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She asks why I like her. Might as well ask Why I breathe. Maybe tomorrow I won't Breathe or like her Anymore. Maybe tomorrow the tides Will stop. Maybe tomorrow will bring No more rainbows. Maybe tomorrow She will stop Asking useless questions.
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