Quotes from Shannon Hale

Despite her mother, Raven had always been a nice girl. Yes, she would grow up to poison and rampage and try to destroy all happiness, but that was no reason not to be civil.

Nonrefundable. It was a good, solid word, one you couldn't chew, one that only dissolved after sucking slowly.

It hurts to be lost. And worse to be home with no kind of homecoming...I'll be lucky if I can do as well as you when all this's done, just a bit out of breath, a bit bruised and scratched, a bit wiser and sadder for it all.

It's good to cry a bit, 'cause that helps us get through the rough parts. And the winter is though, there's no doubt. But we just hang on until spring when that ache will be all but swallowed up.

Courage is not fearlessness.

For you when you're feeling lonely and worried so you'll remember that you're not alone.

Come on, she willed through the care window. Come on, change me. I dare you.

I should be used to it. But right now I'd like all my troubles to stand in front of me in a straight line, and one by one I'd give each a black eye.

Mr. Nobley: "Then I must stay?" Miss Erstwhile: "Unless you want to risk me accusing you of ungentleman-like behavior at dinner, yes, I think you should stay. If I spend too much time alone today, I'm in real danger of doing a convincing impersonation of the madwoman in the attic." Mr. Nobley: He raised an eyebrow. "And how would that be different from-" Miss Esrtwhile: "Sit down Mr. Nobely", she said.

Once there was a queen in a palace of bread. Sing blue, sing white, stay up all night. She nibbled on the walls and gobbled up her bed. Sing white, sing blue, sing ballyhoo. The people begged a crumb from their robust queen. Sing blue, sing white, she ate all night. She would not share a thing until it turned green. So white, so blue, the mold it grew.

Run." Raven took off, Apple on her heels, screaming as a swarm of flying, crawling, leaping insects chased them. "Aah!" Apple screamed. "Aah! I mean, La la la!" Apple sang desperately. "LA LA LA LA!

Tis I, my sweet, your rough-and-ready man Well hid by night to beg your fine white hand Though king of bandits, draped in chains of gold I'm poor in love and suffer grief untold

King Dan sat on his stallion fierce Swords did slice and spears did pierce But in a tree upon the field Perched a small, keen-eyed blackbird And the blackbird did not sing No, the blackbird did not sing

He is ever inglorious His laugh is laborious His smell is notorious Impale the herring king!

Hear the leaves applauding Hear the wind hurrahing Hear the surf guffawing The ways of old are dead The queen has lost her head

If the world looks too big, I'll hold you that much tighter If the breeze feels too chill, I'll make the fire hotter If the storm booms too loud, I'll sing to you still louder I'll always keep you safe, my tiny, precious daughter

These stories had intrigued her with their strange mix of violence and love, so unlike the distant, passionless affection of her own mother. She thought, she hoped, that the handkerchief was something fantastic, like a piece of a tale, but real, and just for her, a symbol of the real, hidden love of her mother.

Loan me your lace of yellow, sister Lend me your fine kid gloves Tonight is the bridal ball, sister Tonight I'll meet my love Present me a sash of blue, sister Gift me a ribbon of white My love awaits me below, sister I am a bride tonight

Bury the embers, extinguish the spark We plunge ourselves in the well of dark Far from voices that trouble and chatter Down, deep down, where worries don't matter Our minds all teem with the unseen thing But night is a blink and sleep but a dream Wake, wake, see things as they seem

I'd thought I wanted to live free of my mundane little cage, but the world outside was feeling more and more hazardous.

You'd better not talk about microscopes anymore," he whispered, "or I don't know if I can control myself.

15. "Master Filippus believes that three disciplines define us as humans," Miri said while they walked to the peat pits. "History, Philosophy, and Poetry. History is human memory, the examination of what came before us. Philosophy is human reason, or an attempt to make sense of what is. Poetry is human imagination, seeking to express what is, even while dreaming of what might be. History, Philosophy, and Poetry—that's what sets humans apart from animals.

And this is where I'll end, before I know what happens next.

A woman without hobbies is dangerously self-negligent.