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How massively the mountains stand, while low to the ground the sand blows. The sand blows on and on. And then there are no mountains, none at all, the sand has kissed and whispered them away. And still, the sand blows on.

Tanith Lee

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Tanith Lee
Age: 67 †
Born: 1947
Born: September 19
Died: 2015
Died: May 24
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
London
England
Esther Garber
Judas Garbah
Blow
Ground
Massively
None
Whispered
Mountain
Blows
Stand
Kissed
Away
Mountains
Stills
Sand
Still
Lows

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I submitted manuscripts to publishers. This was not so much a feeling that I should be published as a wish to escape the feared and hated drudgery of normal work.
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I held out my book. It was precious to me, as were all the things I'd written even where I despised their inadequacy there was not one I would disown. Each tore its way from my entrails. Each had shortened my life, killed me with its own special little death.
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Danger and anger are everywhere. Love is the rarity, the gem buried in the core of the mine, the outpost of God.
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It's very selfish when I write. I'm not aware, ever, of writing for another person I'm not even really aware of writing for myself.
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I haven't changed. Something's happened to me, that's all.
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No one is ever ordinary.
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He sat by her, watching every gesture she made, as if he would paint her portrait afterward.
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If they had said my writing wasn't good enough, fair enough, that's an opinion. But to say it's too complex is to insult the intelligence of the so-called young.
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I am interested in most mythology. Celtic or Christian no more than anything else. I will admit to a pleasure and sense of hope in what I see as the basic teachings of Christ, stripped of the nonsense that has sometimes been accumulated about them and the embarrassing misunderstanding.
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The bitterness of joy lies in the knowledge that is cannot last. Nor should joy last beyond a certain season, for, after that season, even joy would become merely habit.
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It gets cold in the desert at night, particularly up in the mountains the stars hammer on the rock and strike frost.
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We all have our dreams. May we find them, and God have mercy on us when we do.
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The so-called Real World. Human misery and sadness. Blind politics and general cruelty.
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Im a devotee of Dracula, which was a pathfinder in horror and vampire fiction.
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I hate the way, once you start to know someone, care about them, their behavior can distress you, even when it's unreasonable and not your fault, even if you were really trying to be careful, tactful.
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There was no violence, no speed. It moved to the rhythm of an elder dance, putting all the rituals of the world to shame. Black, silver, gold and moon-opal, night and sea, fire, earth, air and water.
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It was so useful to lie with the truth.
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The soul is a magician. Only living flesh hampers it.
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Whatever the hell I am, I am Me.
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Maidens who stay maidens turn into saints. Old women become sorceresses. Tough jobs, both of these.
Tanith Lee