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Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.

Shannon Hale

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Shannon Hale
Age: 50
Born: 1974
Born: January 26
Author
Fantasy Author
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Salt Lake City
Utah
Glimpse
Thousand
Days
Wisdom
Someone
Used
Soul
Mama

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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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Goodness knows she is too fierce for you Goodness knows she has eyes for a lord Goodness knows she yet will prove untrue Her cheek's blush is as false as her word
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Careful with the accusations of insanity, oh my lady whose home is a tower with windows of brick, all for the sake of some skinny-ankled, laugh-prone boy of a khan.
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Clearly she was expected to say something, but panic at having to speak stole the thoughts from her head.
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They weren't nice words he said. He could've lived a good life and died never having made a person feel rubbed down to bones and too sad to hold together.
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I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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Ah, now, don't cry over lost years and forgetfulness. The tales tell what they can. The rest is for us to learn.
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Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be listening to that voice that first told her the story, a mother, sister, or aunt. Then her voice, like her singing, cut through the crickets and crackling fire.
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Time is a wind that keeps blowing in my face and mumbling words that don't make sense.
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She closed the book and put her cheek against it. There was still an odor of a library on it, of dust, leather, binding glue, and old paper, one book carrying the smell of hundreds.
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My friends call me by my name. You don't have any friends. I don't want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.
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He nodded. And if I don't make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every day of your life, then I don't deserve to be near you.
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A heart is a heart in a child or a man.
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Oh land of farms and green hills mild Once formed by giants rough and wild With massive paws they gripped and tore With one great rip they formed the shore Where heavy boots left prints so deep Blue lakes remain 'tween summits steep The giants fought beneath our skies And from their bones our mountains rise
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... and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.
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He smiled in a way that made me want to kiss him right on the spot. Or the lips. Whichever was closer.
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The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and started to read, pronouncing the words in a reverent whisper.
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If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
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