There are no whores in Scaithe’s Ebb, or none that consider themselves as such, although there have always been many women who, if pressed, would describe themselves as much-married, with one husband...
Anyway, you know what they say about wolves, said her father. If the wolves come out of the walls, it's all over.Who says that? asked Lucy.People. Everybody. You know, said her father, and he went bac...
To bite off your shadow is neither easy nor painless. It demands a single-mindedness that is almost unknown in this day.
She said we all not only could know everything. We do. We just tell ourselves we don't to make it all bearable.
His name is Marcus: he is four and a half and possesses that deep gravity and seriousness that only small children and mountain gorillas have ever been able to master.
She found herself to be quite worried that something wouldjump out at her, so she began to whistle. She thought it mightmake it harder for things to jump out at her, if she was whistling.
Names come and names go.
Rock City begins as an ornamental garden on a mountain side: its visitors walk a path that takes them through rocks, over rocks, between rocks. They throw corn into a deer enclosure, cross a hanging b...
Words can be worrisome, poeple complex, motives and manners unclear, grant her the wisdom to choose her path right, free from unkindness and fear.
Richard made a break for it. 'Sorry,' he said to the stunned guard, as he yanked his arm out of the man's grip, and fled. 'Wrong London.'
It's easier to lie to yourself when you say things out loud.
If you were close enough to her ruby-red lips you would hear her say, 'I will rise now and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek the one I love.' She is whispering that,...
The only thing that kept me going was stories. Stories are hope. They take you out of yourself for a bit, and when you get dropped back in, you're different- you're stronger, you've seen more, you've...
Fiction builds empathy. Fiction is something you build up from twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks, and you, and you alone, using your imagination, create a world, and people it and...
She's realized the real problem with stories -- if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.
For as soon as something becomes impossible it slipslides out of belief entirely, whether it’s true or not.
Have you ever spent days and days and days making up flavors of ice cream that no one's ever eaten before? Like chicken and telepone ice cream? Green mouse ice cream was the worst. I didn't like that...
In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. And every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of heart you’ll never see again.
I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance in the wreckage.
It’s a way of talking about lust without talking about lust, he told them. It is a way of talking about sex, and fear of sex, and death, and fear of death, and what else is there to talk about?
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