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Fitz: How bad is it? Nighteyes: Mind your own business. Fitz: You ARE my business. Nighteyes: Sharing pain doesn’t loosen it. Fitz: I’m not sure about THAT.

Robin Hobb

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Robin Hobb
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 5
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Berkeley
California
Margaret Astrid Lindholm Ogden
Megan Lindholm
Margaret Astrid Lindholm
Mind
Fitz
Loosen
Sharing
Sure
Pain
Business
Doesn

More quotes by Robin Hobb

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When considering a man's motives, remember you must not measure his wheat with your bushel. He may not be using the same standard at all.
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There is little in life so reassuring as a genuine welcome.
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Diplomacy is the velvet glove that cloaks the fist of power.
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One can only walk so far from one's true self before the bond either snaps, or pulls one back.
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As I apologized to her a flicker of panic raced through me and then faded away. There wasn't enough life left in me to panic. I'd made a mistake and I was dying. Apparently not even a Speck afterlife was available to me. I'd simply stop being. Apparently I hadn't died correctly. Oops.
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Death is not the opposite of life, but the opposite of choice.
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Anticipating pain was like enduring it twice. Why not anticipate pleasure instead?
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The fight isn't over until you win it, Fitz. That's all you have to remember. No matter what the other man says.
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I think that old magic draws much of its strength from that acknowledgment: that we are a part of that world.
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Don’t do what you can’t undo, until you’ve considered what you can’t do once you’ve done it.
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It was hard to reconcile the drumbeats and lifted voices in the night with my memories of flames and the screams of dying men. How could humanity range so effortlessly from the sublime to the savage and back again?
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I was dressed up as a witch for Halloween, and wanted to write a story about my black cat before I went out trick-or-treating. I think it went out with the trash the next day.
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We are as we are. How can you claim to know what life I was meant to lead, let alone threaten to force me into it? All your quibbling is nonsense. As well forbid your nose to snuff, or your ears to hear. We are as we do.
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I wonder if I can write this history, or if on every page there will be some sneaking show of a bitterness I thought long dead. I think myself cured of all spite, but when I touch pen to paper, the hurt of a boy bleeds out with the sea-spawned ink, until I suspect each carefully formed black letter scabs over some ancient scarlet wound.
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Silence can ask all the questions, where the tongue is prone to ask only the wrong one.
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How different would our perception of reality be if... we discarded the mundane events that cannot coexist with our dreams?
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Her stillness was such a contrast to all the jumbled communication inside me that I suddenly felt what a tiresome fellow I was, always filling the air with the rattle of words and anxieties.
Robin Hobb
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Silent, the carved wizardwood on his wrist breathed. Silent as a blinded ship, floating hull-up in the sea. Silent as a scream underwater.
Robin Hobb
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The fight isn't over until you win.
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Every writer knows a lot more about their characters and story than actually makes it onto the page.
Robin Hobb