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Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.
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
Thought
Might
Third
Thirds
Late
Listen
Second
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Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her.
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Uge, save me from the sauce of their loveyness-raso Forest Born
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The army slew a thousand and showed little pity The king ordered fealty from the conquered city The prince charmed its people with words wise and witty And the queen sat on a couch, looking very pretty
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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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I’ve always believed that as an author, I do 50% of the work of storytelling, and the reader does the other 50%. There’s no way I can control the story you tell yourself from my book. Your own experiences, preferences, prejudices, mood at the moment, current events in your life, needs and wants influence how you read my every word.
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. . . as long as there are movement and harmony, there are words.
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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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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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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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Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.
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Her smile was peculiar - it made her nose wrinkle, not as though she smelled something unpleasant, but more that she was so amused, her whole face wanted to be a part of the smile.
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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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I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.
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You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.
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No more crying. It's all wetness and no comfort at all.
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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... fantasy is not practice for what is real—fantasy is the opiate of women.
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No wolf falters before the bite So strike No hawk wavers before the dive Just strike
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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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There's nothing more aggravating in the world than the midnight sniffling of the person you've decided to hate.
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