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He was transfixed at the sight of the lords and ladies of his realm running about like demented chickens.

Jonathan Stroud

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Jonathan Stroud
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 27
Novelist
Writer
Jonathan Anthony Stroud
Chickens
Realms
Sight
Lord
Transfixed
Running
Demented
Like
Lords
Ladies
Realm

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There was a loud cough from the man on the stand. I replaced My Magic Mirror carefully on his tray, gave him a cheesy smile, and went my way.
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Her clarity gave her purpose and her purpose gave her clarity.
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listen, a goad's anything that provokes or incites an enemy --- let me have a go: cursed deamon! you have met your end! the shivering fire awaits you! i shall spread your vile essance across this hall like... um, like margarine, a very think layer of it... --- ye-es... im not sure he'll pick up on that analogy. never mind, keep going.
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Julius Tallow was a fool. He appeared complacent, but like a weak swimmer out of his depth, his legs were kicking frantically under the surface, trying to keep him afloat. Whatever happened, Nathaniel did not intend to sink with him.
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Freedom is an illusion. It always comes at a price.
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What is a gathering without unseemly drunkenness?
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We communicated with pithy, rather monosyllabic thoughts: viz. Run, Jump, Where? Left, Up, Duck, ect. (This latter was an observation I made on the edge of a lake. Nathaniel unfortunately took it as a command, which resulted in our temporary immersion.) We didn't ever quite say Ug, but it was a close-run thing.
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Can you define plan as a loose sequence of manifestly inadequate observations and conjectures, held together by panic, indecision, and ignorance? If so, it was a very good plan.
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If anyone else asked that question, O He Who Is Terrible and Great, I would have said they were an ignorant fool in you it is a sign of the disarming simplicity which is the fount of all virtue.
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That's a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland
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And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing happened.
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When I was young, I kept a diary for about 10 years and I had to write in it every day. Even on days when nothing seemed to happen, I made myself think of something to put in it.
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Did Lovelace's forces find you? Did Jabor break in? He spoke slowly through clenched teeth. I went to get a newspaper This is getting better and better! I shook my head regretfully. You should leave such a dangerous assignment to people better qualified: next time ask an old granny, or a toddler-
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According to some, heroic deaths are admirable things. I've never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly, or defiant you are, at the end of the day you're also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking.
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Oh, the boots were on the other eight feet now.
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Me, I was still in the pygmy hippo in a skirt, singing lusty songs about Solomon's private life and a giant stone back and forth through the air as I climbed out of the quarry at the edge of the site.
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Zealots: Wild eyed persons afflicted with incurable certainty about the workings of the world, a certainty that can lead to violence when the world doesn't fit.
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What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?
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So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
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I wanted to wake you straightaway, but I knew I had to wait several hours to ensure you were safely recovered. What! How long has it been? Five minutes. I got bored.
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