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No more crying. It's all wetness and no comfort at all.

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
Wetness
Crying
Cry
Comfort

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She was born Anidori-Kiladra Talianna Isilee, Crown Princess of Kildenree, and she did not open her eyes for three days.
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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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Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.
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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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... and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.
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And Isi always listened, never told Enna she had been foolish, never said hollow things like 'You'll be all right.' . . . Isi saw Enna's struggle and her sadness, and she understood.
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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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Years ago, before this estate was generously and unwillingly turned over to the crown, the lord here was a genuine dimwit. He had a minister stashed behind his throne to whisper clever things to say.
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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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Some people are born with the first word of a language resting on their tongue though it may take some time before they can taste it.
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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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Geric, she called. He turned back around. What kind of flowers were they? I don't rightly know, he said. He made faltering gestures with his hands, forming their size and shape from the air. They were yellow, and smallish, and had lots of petals. Thank you, she said. They were beautiful.
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It doesn't seem to matter what we think...The prince will come up here and look at us as if we're barrels in a trader's wagon. And if I'm salt pork and he doesn't care for salt pork, then there's nothing I can do.
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I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.
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If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.
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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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There's nothing more aggravating in the world than the midnight sniffling of the person you've decided to hate.
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When the mountain quaked Like an elbow's nudge Like a shout that something is wrong The people awoke and Knew, yes, knew, that bandits had come
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I was sorry to lose it, and if you make me another one, I promise not to get taken captive by bandits and have to use it to save my life.
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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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