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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
Hours
Lasts
Last
Night
Remember
Squeaky
Book
Stayed
Time
Tragedy
Couldn

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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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...all things speak, in their way, don't they?
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He did a very good impression of a stone column.
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I'm the sheen on water, Rin thought. I'm a looking glass. I'm not real.
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Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.
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Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.
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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.
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And Isi always listened, never told Enna she had been foolish, never said hollow things like 'You'll be all right.' . . . Isi saw Enna's struggle and her sadness, and she understood.
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Smell is the voice of the soul.
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But when she turned her back to the lights, she saw that the night was so dark...She could not see the stars. The world felt as high as the depthless night sky and deeper than she could know. She understood, suddenly and keenly, that she was too small to run away, and she sat on the damp ground and cried.
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Make haste” Jane added, just because she always wanted to say that.
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Enna leaned back her head and laughed at the sky. 'Of course he wasn't! Who could kill Razo?
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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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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms.
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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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If you're listening Big Brother, I refuse to be Fanny Price.
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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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For one thing, everyone there is so clever. Do they think me dull? Perhaps I should assure them that our goats enjoyed listening to me for hours on end. I am certain their bleats meant Do go on, Miri, darling. You are immensely entertaining. Your immensely entertaining sister, Miri
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I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read to me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down.
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