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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
Anything
Nothing
Chatty
Chat
Robins
Reserved
Mice
Terribly
Compared

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Sometimes it is better not to know. Sometimes when you do know you just fold up.
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Then marry me. For I love you, and I do not believe there is anything so wrong with you. You are fair in my eyes and you lie fair on my heart.
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Those single-track military minds never think to ask their cleaning staff for help in giant lethal marauding creature matters.
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What was new was the fact that, despite my heart doing its fight-or-flight, help-we're-prey-and-HEY-STUPID-THAT'S-A-VAMPIRE number, I was glad to see him. Ridiculous but true. Scary but true.
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He grunted she recognized it as relief that she wasn't going to nag him further about Tor the Just, who probably wasn't that boring if he could hold off the Notherners for nine days and melt a hole in the hills.
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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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It seems to me further, that it is very odd that fate should leave so careful a trail, and spend so little time preparing the one that must follow it.
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I've always been fascinated by the grassroots folktale level of a culture, and as a storyteller, I have to follow what seems to be leading me on.
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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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All you did was sit there, he said. Why are you so tired? I sat very diligently, she said.
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But the world turns, and even legends change and somewhere there is a border, and sometime, perhaps, someone will decide to cross it, however well guarded its thorns may be.
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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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There are things you don't want to know you can do
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Vampire. Dangerous. Unknowable. Seriously creepy. This one's name was Constantine. We'd met before.
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What I write, if you have to label it, is crossover, and I think that much of the stuff that is called children's or YA is in fact crossover and is equally valid for anyone who likes to read fantasy.
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One doesn't generally look into mirrors when one is especially angry one has better things to do, like pace the floor or throw things.
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It is a much more straightforward thing to be a dog, and a dog's love, once given, is not reconsidered.
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People forgot it was in the nature of people to forget, to blur boundaries, to retell stories to come out the way they wanted them to come out, to remember things as how they ought to be instead of how they were.
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Your attitude is perhaps a little unnecessarily rigorous, suggested Jack.
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It was too important a matter, this talking to people, and listening to them, to do it lightly or often.
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