…every harsh word spoken, every such act or even thought doesn’t just disappear – it hangs around somewhere in totality and some day it boomerangs to haunt us.

American houses…’ she said, peering over her right shoulder and down the street. ‘They always seem to believe that nobody ever loses anything, has lost anything. I find that very sad. Do you know what I mean?

The strength of fiction is not in reading about yourself, but in reading about other people.

You don’t turn your back on your destiny.

The dull people decided years and years ago, as everyone knows, that novel-writing was the lowest species of literary exertion, and that novel reading was a dangerous luxury and an utter waste of time.

Dreams only come true if youpoint yourself in their direction

Day in and day out we learn to train and grow as Guardians. We do as we’re told and follow the rules. We all work hard. Now it’s our turn to watch some demons tremble in fear! It’s our turn to watch the hunters become the hunted. Who’s ready to see some fighting? Better yet,...

I thought a lighthouse is out at sea.

I know have lived, so many times, that the only thing I have left to remember is my writing, cause every single moment in life it’s already written.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again.

Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things.

Siempre hay algo que se aprende, siempre se aprende algo importante

Most civilizations had more fiction than they did real history.

Stallions,” Frank said, “they’re fightin’ over a girl. – DANIEL’S ESPERANZA

When you turn around, you’ll see something I bet you’ve never seen before. If it takes your breath away, then you’ll fit in nicely. If you don’t feel anything, then maybe you don’t belong here.

Beware, Underlanders, time hangs by a thread.The hunters are hunted, white water runs red.The Gnawers will strike to extinguish the rest.The hope of the hopeless resides in a quest.An Overland warrior, a son of the sun,May bring us back light, he may bring us back none.But gather your neighbors and follow his callOr rats will...

All our ancient history, as one of our wits remarked, is no more than accepted fiction.

A tightrope walker uncertain if he could make it to the other side probably would not. A race car driver wondering if he was taking a turn too fast was likely to lose control. If a man feared death, whether his own or the taking of another’s, death would surely come calling.

There were many tomorrows to be lived through his children. He could only hope that they would face them more courageously than he had, that his mistakes would serve as warning signs rather than crutches to lean on.

He now realized that right and wrong were intertwined notions. His arms could not differentiate between just and unjust causes. They only knew that they were empty.

I tell the story to you now, but in each telling the story itself changes a little, changes direction, and that in turn changes you and me. So be very careful not only in how you repeat it but in how you remember it, goslings. More often than you realize it, the world is shaped...

It is a fiction that [Fifth Street] is a four-lane street. It’s a two-lane street with two left-turn lanes.

do not exist,” or in any case do not exist in the same way as do the inhabitants of the real world. But things manifest in an entirely different way on the unconscious level, which is interested not in the ontological differences between worlds but in the effect they produce on the psyche.Every psychoanalyst knows...

In writing there is art – and in art there is craft …

In writing, there is art. And in art, there is craft …

People vote for whom they believe will be the best president and representative for our country. The First Lady is not on the ballot.

If a woman chooses to support her husband and become First Lady, I believe she must do so with the understanding that the public expects the full-meal deal.

I’m sorry,” I heard him say again. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sudden blur of movement as he slid out of his seat, left some bills for the breakfast he wouldn’t eat, and walked away. And as he did, I thought again of those mornings in the hallway at...

Fiction isn’t what ‘was’. It’s ‘what if’?

Rogerson,” I asked him sweetly as we sat watching a video in the pool house, “where would I find the pelagic zone?””In the open sea,” he said. “Now shut up and eat your Junior Mints.

I’d heard of Evergreen Care Center before. Cass and I had always made fun of the stupid ads they ran on TV, featuring some dragged-out woman with a limp perm and big, painted-on circles under her eyes, downing vodka and sobbing uncontrollably. “We can’t heal you at Evergreen”, the very somber voiceover said. “But we...

I wonder, what kind of life would I have had if it hadn’t been for my mother’s tea-and-cookie parties? Perhaps it’s because of them that I’ve never thought of women as my enemies, as territories I have to conquer, but always as allies and friends – which I believe is the reason why they were...

[Nathan] wasn’t blindly obsessed with a possession. He wasn’t crazy. He was a hero–a father who’d risked his life to rescue his son.

Writing a book with completely fictitious characters is like running a democracy, centered around a capital state. You constantly live with the fear & suspicion that one of the characters will start an uncontrollable rebellion.

Gods, I love this place,” Locke said, drumming his fingers against his thighs. “Sometimes I think this whole city was put here simply because the gods must adore crime. Pickpockets rob the common folk, merchants rob anyone they can dupe, Capa Barsavi robs the robbers and the common folk, the lesser nobles rob nearly everyone,...

Anyone could be anybody. (Eric)

I am a storyteller, not a historian, and it’s my ambition to create something compelling – something unputdownable and riveting – that chimes with the real history but is, in fact, fiction.

I’m scared to fall asleep. I don’t want to see it…

Books have a vital place in our culture. They are the source of ideas, of stories that engage and stretch the imagination and most importantly, inspire.

People make interesting assumptions about the profession. The writer is a mysterious figure, wandering lonely as a cloud, fired by inspiration, or perhaps a cocktail or two.

Artists are dishonest creatures really. They foist their version of reality upon us while making it all up. Writers, painters, musicians, auteurs—they’re all the same.

Never give up. Dare to Dream. Dare to believe.

Don’t mind Russ,” he says. “He’s a good kid underneath all those holes, although it’s a wonder he doesn’t spring a leak when he drinks

Is where you’re from the place you’re leaving or where you have roots?

We have our stories, and we speak of them, and weave them into other people’s stories – that’s how it goes, does it not?

We have all been fooled into believing in people who are entirely imaginary–made-up prisoners in a hypothetical panopticon. But the point isn’t whether or not you believe in imaginary people; it’s whether or not you want to.”I think I’ll stick with reality,” I said, handing Cassidy back her phone.She stared at it, and then me,...

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

When reading dies, the imagination soon follows.

Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.

A good piece of fiction, in my view, does not offer solutions. Good stories deal with our moral struggles, our uncertainties, our dreams, our blunders, our contradictions, our endless quest for understanding. Good stories do not resolve the mysteries of the human spirit but rather describe and expand up on those mysteries.