Quotes from Chuck Wendig

An epiphany was a useful revelation about the world around you; an apophany was a revelation, too, but wrong in that you had incorrectly discerned a pattern where none had existed, taking enlightenment from an untrue thing.

Be vigilant with the truth, Arav. Our truth, our love, it's what we have.

One of those towns where the country had moved on but this place stayed behind, as if it had found grim comfort in the fact it would never grow up, would never get better, and it was what it was from here until it was gone.

all hail the light, the dark, and the gray.

Los jedi de antaño eran tramposos y mentirosos. Maniacos hambrientos de poder que operaban bajo el disfraz de orden monástico santo. Defensores de la moral, cuya diplomacia era el uso del sable de luz.

Tell me to smile, and I'll show you my teeth.)

Propriety can go dunk its head in an unflushed toilet.

The SUV carves its way through dark pine forests. Morning sun passes through the pleached trees, dappling the windows of the vehicle.

Maybe healthy communities thrive, and sick ones become cults.

The first force is evolution. Humanity changing, growing, becoming better than it was. The second force is ruination. Humanity making its best effort to demonstrate its worst tendencies. A march toward self-destruction.

A storyteller makes us feel something. Makes us give a shit when we have no good reason to do so. Fun is not the last stop on the story train. The storyteller is master manipulator. The storyteller is cackling puppetmaster.

The Empire is just a skin we wear, you see. A shell. It's not just about law and order. It's about total control.

Apophenia, they called it. An epiphany was a useful revelation about the world around you; an apophany was a revelation, too, but wrong in that you had incorrectly discerned a pattern where none had existed, taking enlightenment from an untrue thing. It was the human way—seeing truth in the storm of darkness and noise. Faces in clouds, ghosts on video, Jesus on a piece of damn toast.

This is democracy," she says. "It is strange. And it is messy. It's not about getting it right. It's about trying to get it right.

Evil lived in the world. Wars and terror. Torture and assault. But he also knew that, statistically, the worst among them were a small percentage of the whole—it just felt like a lot more because that's how it went. Same way one mean comment could spoil a beautiful day

stirring up the kind of energy they hadn't summoned since before Oliver was born, the kind of energy that could power a mountain village for the better part of a year, the kind of energy that reminded them both that their love was vigorous and eternal, lust-slick and heart-strong, as bright as starlight, as loud as thunder, and dirtier than a gas station bathroom.

Homeland Security. Everyone had gotten so adapted to it, they forgot that it sounded like something out of 1984. Motherland, Fatherland, Homeland—these were, to him, implicitly un-American ideas, words antithetical to the mishmash hodgepodge of humanity that made up the citizenry of these United States.

HELLO. I AM ENJOYING THIS HUG, TOO. HUG HUG HUG. A HUG IS LIKE VIOLENCE MADE OF LOVE.

An epiphany was a useful revelation about the world around you; an apophany was a revelation, too, but wrong in that you had incorrectly discerned a pattern where none had existed, taking enlightenment from an untrue thing. It was the human way—seeing truth in the storm of darkness and noise. Faces in clouds, ghosts on video, Jesus on a piece of damn toast.

Three other vectors for infection. That's what this was, wasn't it? It's not contained at all.

that glam-band dream-balladry of that Argentine band that Evil Elvis used to listen to (Babasónicos!).

Sir, I don't want this to get ugly." "Have you seen your face, guardsman? Too late to wish for pretty.

It was sweetened with beet sugar, which gave it an odd, earthy taste, because beets always tasted like dirt.

Writing is the act of creation. Put words on a page, words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs, paragraphs to seven-book epic fantasy cycles with books so heavy you could choke a hippo. But don't give writing too much power, either. A wizard controls his magic; it doesn't control him.