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He was a worried man (I'm stretching the term a bit here, I know. By now, in his mid to late teens, he might just about have passed for a man. When seen from behind. At a distance. On a very dark night).

Jonathan Stroud

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Jonathan Stroud
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 27
Novelist
Writer
Jonathan Anthony Stroud
Behind
Bits
Stretching
Seen
Teens
Term
Passed
Dark
Worried
Night
Distance
Might
Late
Men
Behinds

More quotes by Jonathan Stroud

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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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Haven't you done enough for a lifetime? Think about it - two power - crazed magicians killed, a hundred power - crazed magicians saved.
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Her clarity gave her purpose and her purpose gave her clarity.
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The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcanoe. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke. Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scare him. And it did, too.
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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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Most traditional ghost stories feature rather hapless protagonists, who have nasty things happen to them.
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When I write something that would have made me laugh as a 10-year-old, or would have scared me or would have excited me, I know I'm onto something.
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Freedom is an illusion. It always comes at a price.
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I read a bit of the Icelandic sagas. They're fascinating in that they are completely ordinary. The farmer will go off into the hills and fight a troll, and then go back and do ordinary things. It's an odd mix of fantasy and reality.
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Then again, Solomon was human. And that meant he was flawed (Go on, take a look at yourself in the mirror. A good long look, if you can bear it. See? Flawed's putting it mildly, isn't it?)
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That's usuаllу hоw thеу start, thе young оnеs. Meaningless waffle.
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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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As an author, you need to keep talking to your audience to remind yourself what they like and what they don't like. You spend most of your life locked in a room, and you need to be social occasionally.
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Hey, we've all got problems, chum. I'm overly talkative. You look like a field of buttercups in a suit.
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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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What is a gathering without unseemly drunkenness?
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The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.
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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.
Jonathan Stroud
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So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
Jonathan Stroud