Lies were like having a pregnant rabbit. One day you had one, but before you knew it, there were rabbits all over the place.

It reminded me of that tongue-in-cheek quick history of art I'd overheard...Used to be people couldn't draw very well, then they could, and now they can't again.

There are as many stories to be told as there are people to tell them about; only the mean-spirited would consider there to be a competition at all.

Often the magical elements in my books are standing in for elements of the real world, the small and magical-in-their-own-right sorts of things that we take for granted and no longer pay attention to, like the bonds of friendship that entwine our own lives with those of other people and places.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on.

The trouble with magic is that there's too much it just can't fix. When things go wrong, glimpsing junkyard faerie and crows that can turn into girls and back again doesn't help much. The useful magic's never at hand. The three wishes and the genies in bottles, seven-league boots, invisible cloaks and all. They stay in the stories, while out here in the wide world we have to muddle through as best we can on our own.

Look inside yourself for the answers - you're the only one who knows what's best for you. Everybody else is only guessing.