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Uge, save me from the sauce of their loveyness-raso Forest Born

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
Forest
Forests
Save
Born
Sauce

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...all things speak, in their way, don't they?
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I'm going to find whoever is responsible for me sleeping out side with outside without pillows and kick them in the shins!-Enna
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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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... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.
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But when she turned her back to the lights, she saw that the night was so dark...She could not see the stars. The world felt as high as the depthless night sky and deeper than she could know. She understood, suddenly and keenly, that she was too small to run away, and she sat on the damp ground and cried.
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If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
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You can be who you will,” he repeated. His voice softened. “And if you will have me, I will be the one beside you.
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My ma says You can't unspill a stew. She also says Undoing a wrong is greater than doing a right. You know, Ma is very good at saying two things at once.
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...Speaking of, I've been playing with the letters - Lovers In a Very Enlightened Regard. LIVER. Good one. Also, how about Life Invasion Via Exceptional Respect? Life Invasion. Like it. Or Lovelike Intensity Via Emotional Rapport. Doesn't that spell OLIVER?
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Gerti didn’t ask for help.” Miri swallowed and tried to calm her quavering voice. “It was my fault.” “So it was. Now you all have learned that those who speak out of turn choose punishment for themselves and anyone they speak to.” “So if I speak to you, Tutor Olana, will you get the lashes?
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Go on, son, you're not doing me any good by bleeding.
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How I keep trying to force our story into a fairy tale, but from the beginning, it's been more like a nursery rhyme. Bizarre and adorable? Just like you. With rings in your pockets and bells on your toes Ooh, I should really invest in some toes bells.
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I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read to me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down.
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No one had ever called her wild before. She wanted to be wild now, for him. Wild seemed more enticing then a bowl of berries.
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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
Shannon Hale
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He did a very good impression of a stone column.
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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a thirty-something woman in possession of a satisfying career and fabulous hairdo must be in want of very little
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Saying my story makes me want to change it, make it sound pretty the way I do with the stories I tell the workers. I'd like it to have a beginning as grand as a ball and an ending in a whisper, like a mother tucking in a child for sleep.
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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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... fantasy is not practice for what is real—fantasy is the opiate of women.
Shannon Hale