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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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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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When you get tired of worrying and mourning your horse and trying not to be afraid, tell me and I'll do it for you a while so you can shut your eyes and sleep peaceful.
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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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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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Here's the thing about home: you can create it most anywhere, as long as you gather your people around you.
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Your head will be fine,” said Miri. “It’s your neck you should worry about.
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Smell is the voice of the soul.
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They finished laughing and caught their breaths, and looked at each other, and Ani thought Geric looked at her too long, as though he forgot he was looking, as though he did not wish to do anything else. She looked back. Her took heart took its time quieting down.
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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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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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Go on, son, you're not doing me any good by bleeding.
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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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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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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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Ani told them all...telling more than needed telling, the stories clarifying and unifying themselves in her mind as she let them spill out of her mouth.
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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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Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.
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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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He did a very good impression of a stone column.
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As a general rule, writing is very inconvenient.
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