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Mice are terribly chatty. They will chat about anything, and if there is nothing to chat about, they will chat about having nothing to chat about. Compared to mice, robins are reserved.

Robin McKinley

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Robin McKinley
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: November 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Warren
Ohio
Jennifer Carolyn Robin McKinley
Compared
Anything
Nothing
Chatty
Chat
Robins
Reserved
Mice
Terribly

More quotes by Robin McKinley

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...but with the hours I sometimes kept at the coffeehouse I had to have learned to take naps during the day or die, and I had learned to take naps. Up until five months ago something or other or die had always seemed like a plain choice in favor of the something or other.
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Can you trust me, he said. Not will you. Can you. Can I trust him? What do I have to lose?
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What we can do, we must do: we must use what we are given, and we must use it the best we can, however much or little help we have for the task. What you have been given is a hard thing--a very hard thing... But my darling, what if there were no one who could do the difficult things?
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Can't all beasts be tamed?
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I long for another human face just as I fear it.
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As I have said, you have no reason to trust me, and an excellent reason not to.
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Your attitude is perhaps a little unnecessarily rigorous, suggested Jack.
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Vampire. Dangerous. Unknowable. Seriously creepy. This one's name was Constantine. We'd met before.
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With the knowledge of her aloneness came a rush of self-declaration: “I will not be nothing.”
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Stay a little while longer, and let everyone congratulate you - including the ones who clearly don't want to: in fact, especially the ones who clearly don't want to. You don't have to say anything but 'thank you
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My capacity for invention is flash hot stark, I thought. Sucker sunshade. Disembodied radar-reconnaissance. Not to mention Bitter Chocolate Death and Killer Zebras. Pity about the rest of me.
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Tell me who you are. You need not tell me your name. Names have power, even human ones. Tell me where you live and what you do with your living.
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Sometimes it is better not to know. Sometimes when you do know you just fold up.
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Laughter went on and on, like sunlight and stone, even if the human beings who laughed did not.
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Why do you tell me... so much? Luthe considered her. I tell you... some you need to know, and some you have earned the right to know, and some it won't hurt you to know-- He stopped.... Some things I tell you only because I wish to tell them to you.
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He didn't look insane or inhuman. He did look uncooperative.
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And none at all has ridden at the king's side since Aerinha, goddess of honor and flame, first taught men to forge their blades. You'd think Aerinha would have had better sense.
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...like a grain of sand that gets into an oyster's shell. What if the grain doesn't want to become a pearl? Is it ever asked to climb out quietly and take up its old position as a bit of ocean floor?
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Betrayal would be a different sort of sick.
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I don't differentiate in the way that the genre creators want differentiation to be made. I feel that I have never written children's or YA stories particularly.
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