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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.

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
Remember
Squeaky
Book
Stayed
Time
Tragedy
Couldn
Hours
Lasts
Last
Night

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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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No wolf falters before the bite So strike No hawk wavers before the dive Just strike
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. . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words.
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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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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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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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No more crying. It's all wetness and no comfort at all.
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My ma says a rock lasts forever, but people don’t, and that’s what makes them more precious.
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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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I'm going to find whoever is responsible for me sleeping out side with outside without pillows and kick them in the shins!-Enna
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I cannot write to anyone outside myself--if I tried, it would be a horrible story, flat and lifeless. I write to myself. That's the only person I'm trying to please.
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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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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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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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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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Clearly she was expected to say something, but panic at having to speak stole the thoughts from her head.
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Make haste” Jane added, just because she always wanted to say that.
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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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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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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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