You're better than seven years of food. You're better than windows. You're even better than the sky.
They finished laughing and caught their breaths, and looked at each other, and Ani thought Geric looked at her too long, as though he forgot he was looking, as though he did not wish to do anything else. She looked back. Her took heart took its time quieting down.
I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read to me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down.
I don't know how you persist in being so stubborn-It's a superpower. I was bitten by a radioactive mule.
You saw my leg?How can a man help what he sees? he said. And, if I could add, you possess a very fine leg.
Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms.
He smiled in a way that made me want to kiss him right on the spot. Or the lips. Whichever was closer.
What are you doing? Ya! said Jane, whirling around, her hands held up menacingly. It was Mr. Nobley with coat, hat, and cane, watching her with wide eyes. Jane took several quick (but oh so casual) steps away from Martin's window. Um, did I just say, 'Ya'? You just said 'Ya,' he confirmed. If I am not mistaken, it was a battle cry, warning that you were about to attack me.I, uh... She stopped to laugh. I wasn't aware until this precise and awkward moment that when startled in a startled in a strange place, my instincts would have me pretend to be a ninja.
There's nothing more aggravating in the world than the midnight sniffling of the person you've decided to hate.
There you go...let it all slide out. Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears.
I'm a terrible prince. I should put my kingdom first and everything else second, but your first. I want you by my side every second, but I know I would crumble if I lost you.
Sometimes my fancy gets to floating inside me, threatening to carry me away like a leaf on a wind. Better to be a stone.
I wonder if everyone who faces death hurts like this. It's as though for the first time I realize how much just being alive makes my body ache. But I don't want that ache to stop.
The rewrites are a struggle right now. Sometimes I wish writing a book could just be easy for me at last. But when I think about it practically, I am glad it's a struggle. I am (as usual) attempting to write a book that's too hard for me. I'm telling a story I'm not smart enough to tell. The risk of failure is huge. But I prefer it this way. I'm forced to learn, forced to smarten myself up, forced to wrestle. And if it works, then I'll have written something that is better than I am.
I'm writing a first draft and reminding myself that I'm simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.
A castle of defense, a bastion of mightA fort where the wise teach the young to fightAn armory of weapons, sharp as hooksAre wrapped in leather and shelved as books
Careful with the accusations of insanity, oh my lady whose home is a tower with windows of brick, all for the sake of some skinny-ankled, laugh-prone boy of a khan.
We found it! Charlotte yelled, as they ran back through the house. We found it, we found it!Eddie, Mr. Mallery, and Colonel Andrews came from separate directions, converging in the front hall. Miss Charming was hopping up and down, her bosom nearly rising to slap her own forehead.
My heart’s so light it floats and carries me so my feet don’t walk. I sing all day and I don’t mind the washing, and that’s how I know I’m in love. Completely smitten with My Lord the cat.
Personally, I believe “Young Adult” to be an arbitrary title that means the book Can be enjoyed by anyone/Has a main character who’s not quite an adult/Isn’t really boring.
She closed the book and put her cheek against it. There was still an odor of a library on it, of dust, leather, binding glue, and old paper, one book carrying the smell of hundreds.
The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and started to read, pronouncing the words in a reverent whisper.
But, how do you know if an ending is truly good for the characters unless you've traveled with them through every page?
When you get tired of worrying and mourning your horse and trying not to be afraid, tell me and I'll do it for you a while so you can shut your eyes and sleep peaceful.
My friends call me by my name.You don't have any friends.I don't want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.
And Isi always listened, never told Enna she had been foolish, never said hollow things like 'You'll be all right.' . . . Isi saw Enna's struggle and her sadness, and she understood.
Seriously, a thirty-something woman shouldn't be daydreaming about a fictional character in a two-hundred-year-old world to the point where it interfered with her very real and much more important life and relationships. Of course she shouldn't.
Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.