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Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.

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
Clung
Cloth
Nightmare
Smoke
Smell
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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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... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.
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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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Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.
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As a general rule, writing is very inconvenient.
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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 had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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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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. . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words.
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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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Clearly she was expected to say something, but panic at having to speak stole the thoughts from her head.
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I know I would crumble if I lost you.
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No one had ever called her wild before. She wanted to be wild now, for him. Wild seemed more enticing then a bowl of berries.
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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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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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How I keep trying to force our story into a fairy tale, but from the beginning, it's been more like a nursery rhyme. Bizarre and adorable? Just like you. With rings in your pockets and bells on your toes Ooh, I should really invest in some toes bells.
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Make haste” Jane added, just because she always wanted to say that.
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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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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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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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