She didn't bother taking off her snow-crusted cloak; she came to us quickly, dripping and shivering, her eyes luminous and strained from trying to see beyond the world.
Is she crazy? No, he said simply. But sometimes her sanity is terrifying.
Explain to me again, he begged, why we are here.She had told him once before; it had been like listening to a vivid, improbable dream.
But you had a right to be angry. Yes. But not to hurt those I love, or myself.
There are no simple words. I don't know why I thought I could hide anything behind language.
Tell me the story of the locket.''Once upon a time, my lord, in the best and the worst of all possible words, a princess fell in love with a young man who loved to draw pictures.''Like Ducon.''Very li...
Morgon of Hed met the High One's harpist one autumn day when the trade-ships docked at Tol for the season's exchange of goods. A small boy caught sight of the round-hulled ships with their billowing s...
No song, no peace, no poetry, no end of days, and no forgetting.
You have a very peculiar expression on your face,' he commented drowsily.'I was just thinking.''About what?''About how we know what's real. How we wake out of a timeless place and recognize time. How...
There are pieces to the puzzle missing,' Camas said. He was tugging his hair; his eyes glowed eerily in the red light from a stained-glass lamp. 'And pieces that don't yet fit. What, for instance, pre...
The message, which one fall or another of the coin would eventually give him, was how to get himself out of his chamber and into Nepenthe's, so that he could tell her why he had not come to tell her w...
Sorry, he said penitently. It’s a book. I have no common sense around them.
She was a sweet, warm wind in my heart, a resting place, a place of peace where I could forget so many things . . .
She smiled. I don’t know. I wonder sometimes, too. Then you touch my face with your scarred hand and read my mind. Your eyes know me. That’s why I keep following you all over the realm, barefoot or ha...
Night is not something to endure until dawn. It is an element, like wind or fire. Darkness is its own kingdom; it moves to its own laws, and many living things dwell in it.
Morgan, he whispered, I wish you had not been someone I loved so.
I had thirty-nine typed pages and a contract stating I would send the completed manuscript in by February 1, 2002. I knew where I wanted the novel to go, but I couldn’t seem to shove it past page 39....
I did not know, until then, that you could disappear into someone's gaze, that bone and heart and breath could melt like shadow into light, until only light was left.
He finally took his harp out of the cobwebs, walked out the door, and admitted who he was: the Unforgiven.
He closed his grade book and asked hopefully, What inspired you? Was it Hawthorne?I stared at him. He had to be kidding.