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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.
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
First
Fire
Cricket
Like
Eyes
Distant
Story
Sister
Eye
Seemed
Voice
Singing
Mother
Cutting
Crackling
Stories
Listening
Crickets
Firsts
Told
Aunt
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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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The snow was too light to stay, the ground too warm to keep it. And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden moment of dawn, the turning of the page between night and day.
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For one thing, everyone there is so clever. Do they think me dull? Perhaps I should assure them that our goats enjoyed listening to me for hours on end. I am certain their bleats meant Do go on, Miri, darling. You are immensely entertaining. Your immensely entertaining sister, Miri
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I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.
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I cannot write to anyone outside myself--if I tried, it would be a horrible story, flat and lifeless. I write to myself. That's the only person I'm trying to please.
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Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.
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Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.
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Enna leaned back her head and laughed at the sky. 'Of course he wasn't! Who could kill Razo?
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If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
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Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.
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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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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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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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Poor gosling. It hurts to be lost. And worse to be home with no kind of homecoming...I'll be lucky if I can do as well as you when all this's done, just a bit out of breath, a bit bruised and scratched, a bit wiser and sadder for it all.
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His brothers could tease him about his height or the number of scars he was collecting on his body. He could take the joke when they said he would die having never won a fair wrestling match. But the topic of Bettin still smarted too much. He'd imagined being with her always. Now when he closed his eyes, he had trouble imagining anything else.
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Her smile was peculiar - it made her nose wrinkle, not as though she smelled something unpleasant, but more that she was so amused, her whole face wanted to be a part of the smile.
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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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If you were a woman, all I'd have to say is 'Colin Firth in a wet shirt' and you'd say 'Ah.
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She dismounted, grabbed Enna's hand so tightly that she drew blood with her fingernails, walked straight into the nearest cottage, and plopped down on a bed. Enna nodded to the startled cottage dwellers. It's the queen, you see, said Enna. She's going to have a baby in your house. You don't mind?
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Uge, save me from the sauce of their loveyness-raso Forest Born
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