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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
Rail
Stairs
Laughed
Pretend
Caught
Bottom
Done
Stair
Would
Sliding

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And so, with laughter and love, we lived happily ever after.
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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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Step follows step, Hope follows Courage, Set your face towards danger, Set your heart on victory.
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He is flawless, without a blemish. Majesic . . . muscular.
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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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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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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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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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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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He -it- was a specter! I stepped back, stunned.
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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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I was born singing. Most babies cry, I sang an aria.
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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'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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