The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a...
The sight of men filled her with an old, slow, strange mixture of tenderness and terror.
The most professional curse ever snarled or croaked or thundered can have no effect on a pure heart.
The magician was studying her face with his green eyes. Your face is wet, he said worriedly. I hope that's spray. If you've become human enough to cry, then no magic in the world — oh, it must be spra...
The ludicrousness of admonishing an immortal creature to be careful was a little more than his sense of the absurd could tolerate.
Stories never end. We end.
She did not look anything like a horned horse, as unicorns are often pictured, being smaller and cloven-hoofed, and possessing that oldest, wildest grace that horses have never had, that deer have onl...
Once you had your man, you let all your accomplishments go. You don’t sew or sing any more, you haven’t illuminated a manuscript in years—and
Marriage isn't like football, like bocce. One isn't good at it, nobody has a special gift. You stumble along, and if there is enough love-- she smiled at him-- you learn.
I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling.
How's the Angel of Death supposed to do his job with clipped wings?
Hell of an ornithologist you'd make.
He is a great enough magician to tap our most common nightmares, daydreams and twilight fancies, but he never invented them either: he found them a place to live, a green alternative to each day's mad...
Haggard, I would not be you for all the world, he declared. You have let your doom in by the front door, although it will not depart that way. (...) Farewell, poor Haggard, farewell!
A hero is entitled to his happy ending, when it comes at last.
The Cat: When the wine drinks itself, when the skull speaks, when the clock strikes the right time, only then will you find the tunnel that leads to the Red Bull. There be a trick to it, of course.
And even the feral, near-wild Third Cat, whose true name he had never discovered, as one has to do with cats, trailed
What happened instead was that the tree fell in love with him and began to murmur fondly of the joy to be found in the eternal embrace of a red oak. Always, always, it sighed, faithful beyond any man'...
They broaden our outlook… set us to looking inward…
There are people,' he said, 'who give, and there are people who take. There are people who create, people who destroy, and people who don't do anything and drive the other two kinds crazy. It's born i...