Quote

He would never abandon her, never leave a gaping hole, and even if he died someday, he was preserved like a lab specimen from all the alcohol he imbibed, so he wouldn't look or act much different.

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
Would
Wouldn
Labs
Like
Leave
Preserved
Look
Hole
Looks
Abandon
Different
Someday
Even
Holes
Imbibed
Much
Alcohol
Specimen
Never
Died
Gaping

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Why was the judgement of the disapproving so valuable? Who said that their good opinions tended to be any more rational than those of generally pleasant people?
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I am not sure I am ready to know what I think about that, so I dare not write it out.
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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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There you go...let it all slide out. Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears.
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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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Uge, save me from the sauce of their loveyness-raso Forest Born
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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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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The woman gestured to a seat and put on a patient face. An impatient sort of patient face, like an impatient face dressing up as a patient one for Halloween.
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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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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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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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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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Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.
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A heart's a heart, in a child or a man. You are tougher than you feel right now. Your roots are deep, your canopy's spread wide. You're going to show everyone what it means to be a king.
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Writing a first draft and reminding myself that I'm simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.
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You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.
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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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. . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words.
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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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