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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
Eye
Seemed
Voice
Singing
Mother
Cutting
Crackling
Stories
Listening
Crickets
Firsts
Told
Aunt
First
Fire
Cricket
Like
Eyes
Distant
Story
Sister
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Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her.
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You saw my leg? How can a man help what he sees? he said. And, if I could add, you possess a very fine leg.
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If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
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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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Will you accompany me in this dance?” he said, bowing and holding out his hand. “No, thank you.” Miri smiled. The prince frowned and looked and the chief delegate as if for assistance. Miri laughed self consciously. “I, uh, I was teasing.
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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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Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms.
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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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...all things speak, in their way, don't they?
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I couldn’t remember the last time I had stayed up into the squeaky hours of the night because I couldn’t put a book down, and that was a tragedy.
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Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.
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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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Its important to know stories. I felt the earth shift to make a place for you when you were born, and I came to tell you stories while you are young. And like me, you were born with a word on your tongue.
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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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I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.
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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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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 put a wedge beside my heart And then she brought the mallet down She sang no song to guide her work I lost my heart without a sound
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I can see that one can never pay back Gilsa for the fear that she will give again.
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... and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.
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