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You won't even take your bow? Are you planning to throttle a moose with your bare hands, then? I've a knife in my boot, she said, and then wondered, for a moment, if she could throttle a moose with her bare hands.

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Knives
Boots
Throttle
Planning
Moose
Moment
Boot
Moments
Knife
Hands
Bare
Take
Bows
Even
Wondered

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In the saddle again, Fire mulled over the commander's trust, prodding it around, like a candy in her mouth, trying to decide whether she believed it.
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I wanted you to go away, because it hurts to be with you when I can't see you. - Po
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Spelling bees? Spelling bees do not scare me. I competed in the National Spelling Bee twice, thank you very much. My dad competed in the National Spelling Bee. My aunt competed in the National Spelling Bee. My uncle WON the National Spelling Bee. If I can't spell it, I know someone who can. So just bring it on.
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If her enemies were Brigan's friends and her friends were Brigan's enemies, then the two of them could walk through the world arm in arm and never be hit by arrows again.
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...that's how memory works ... Things disappear without your permission, then come back again without your permission.
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Have you ridden over anyone you shouldn't?
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Katsa didn't think a person should thank her for not causing pain. Causing joy was worthy of thanks, and causing pain worthy of disgust. Causing neither was neither, it was nothing, and nothing didn't warrant thanks.
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His name was Death. It was pronounced to rhyme with teeth, but Bitterblue liked to mispronounce it by accident on occassion.
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When a monster stopped behaving like a monster, did it stop being a monster? Did it become something else?
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I've always been led to believe that the ultimate goal for an author is the movie deal. Now I understand that the movie deal is merely a MEANS TO A MUCH HIGHER END: NAIL POLISH.
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Only a person with the true heart of a dictionary-writer would be lying in bed, three days after being stabbed in the gut, worrying about his P's.
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There was no helping her tears. For they would leave Po behind… She cried into his shoulder like a child. Ashamed of herself, for it was only a parting, and Bitterblue had not wept like this even over a death. ‘Don’t be ashamed,' Po whispered. ‘Your sadness is dear to me. Don’t be frightened. I won’t die, Katsa. I won’t die, and we’ll meet again.
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Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see.
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Great seas, he said. What do you want? He held the candle up to her face. Po, what do you want? She did a far better job than I would've done.
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Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Randa didn't deserve it. And even though she wanted what the voice wanted, she didn't think she had the courage for it.
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Normal. She wasn't normal. A girl Graced with killing, a royal thug? A girl who didn't want the husbands Randa pushed on her, perfectly handsome and thoughtful men, a girl who panicked at the thought of a baby at her breast, or clinging to her ankles.
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Everybody was strange. In a fit of frustration, she scratched out strange and wrote the word CRACKPOTS in big letters.
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Alone with Giddon again, Bitterblue considered him, rather liking the mud streaks on his face. He looked like a handsome sunken rowboat.
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A man who fights you as he does is no better than an opportunist and no worse than a thug.
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Brigan threw his head back and smiled at the sky. Well said, Lady. The world may be falling to pieces, but at least the lot of us can have a bath.
Kristin Cashore