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It was karma, it was kismet, it was magic. It doesn't matter how it happened, just that it did.

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
Kismet
Karma
Magic
Happened
Doesn
Matter

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Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.
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... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.
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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 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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Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.
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The to Cathal was battered and only one wagon wide, with swells of hard earth where mud had frozen during cold ad rainy seasons. Enna tripped often, and cursed each time she tripped, until Dasha said, Enna, you might watch your language. Enna grimaced. I was. You should hear my thoughts.
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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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Truth is when your mind and your gut agree.
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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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Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.
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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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Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her.
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Life is short, so live extra lives. Read books.
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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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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I always knew it was ill-fated, but he truly believed I would be his bride. I guess I'd never realized that before. He had taken my mucker hand and looked at my mottled face and believed we would wed. And he hadn't seemed sorry. In fact, he'd swooped me up in a corridor and kissed me. That set me to crying.
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Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.
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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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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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Careful with the accusations of insanity, oh my lady whose home is a tower with windows of brick, all for the sake of some skinny-ankled, laugh-prone boy of a khan.
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