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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
Bottom
Done
Stair
Would
Sliding
Rail
Stairs
Laughed
Pretend
Caught

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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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Oak, granite, Lilies by the road, Remember me? I remember you. Clouds brushing Clover hills, Remember me? Sister, child, Grown tall, Remember me? I remember you.
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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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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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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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Luck was with me. I saw no spiders. Luck was against me. I saw no specters.
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Who judges the judge who judges wrong?
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There's nothing wrong with reading a book you love over and over.
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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 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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You're Only the fairest when your fairest to yourself
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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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I shan't marry a prince!
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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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He -it- was a specter! I stepped back, stunned.
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Father asks frequently in his letters whether I fancy any Ayorthaian young lady or any in our acquaintance at home. I say no I suppose I'm confessing another fault: pride. I don't want him to know that I love if my affections are not returned
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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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He is flawless, without a blemish. Majesic . . . muscular.
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