The world could bring you poison in a jewelled cup, or surprising gifts. Sometimes you didn't know which of them it was.
Do you know the wish of your heart?" - The Darkest Road
As many have noted, the peril for authors is that our work space is too easily our play space.
One man sees a riselka: his life forks there. Two men see a riselka: one of them shall die. Three men see a riselka: one is blessed, one forks, one shall die.
It was different, though, knowing something in your thoughts and then hearing it confirmed, made real, planted in the world like a tree
Weariness, sometimes more than anything else, can bring an end to war.
A hand fought best when it made a fist.
I have always argued, in a good novel, interesting things happen to interesting people.
Lazy poets try to elicit a reader's response with words designed to tug at the heart.
... everyone knew that all islands were worlds unto themselves, that to come to an island was to come to another world.
You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.
What man would dare believe that all he planned might come to pass?
When I was 18 years old, in a more innocent time, my first backpacking trip through Europe, I sneaked into the Temple of Saturn in the Roman Forum after nightfall and spent several hours in there avoiding the guards patrolling.
Writing is never, ever easy but I wake up every morning grateful for the gift of being able to do this.
When I'm all grown up, come what may, I'll build a boat to carry me away
We are all shaped by where we grow up, though that shaping takes different forms. I dont think theres any doubt that coming of age in Winnipeg both opened my eyes and made me hungry - if I can subvert all claims to be a real writer by mixing metaphors like that.
There was some sadness in how that could happen, falling out of love with something that had shaped you. Or even people who had.
Unless the perfidious wolves have the temerity to disobey the High King's plans, we should meet Shalhassan's forces by the Latham in mid-wood with the wolves between us. If they aren't,' Diarmuid concluded, 'we blame anyone and everything except the plan.
There was some sadness in how that could happen, Tai thought: falling out of love with something that had shaped you. Or even people who had? But if you didn't change at least a little, where were the passages of a life? Didn't learning, changing, sometimes mean letting go of what had once been seen as true?
Men made wagers with their judgment, their allegiances, their resources.
The military preferred - invariably - those who could be readily defined, assigned roles, understood, and controlled.
The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.
One man sees a riselka: his life forks there. Two men see a riselka: one of them shall die. Three men see a riselka: one is blessed, one forks, one shall die. One woman sees a riselka: her path comes clear to her. Two women see a riselka: one of them shall bear a child. Three women see a riselka: one is blessed, one is clear, one shall bear a child.
Ice is for death and endings.
I will not say I am sorry, but I can tell you that I grieve.
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