In my writing, I strive for a lyrical beauty somewhere between Tolkien at his best and Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf.

Though they live far from the coast, they retain a great fascination and passion for the ocean. The sound of crashing waves, the smell of salt air, it affects them deeply and has inspired many of their lovliest songs. There is one that tells of this love, if you want to hear it.

He inclined his head ever so slightly, displaying with his bearing the supreme confidence, even arrogance, that is the sole providence of cats, dragons, and certain highborn women.

I love telling stories and I love writing so the fact that I can do it professionally is something that I've always been very grateful for.

When I saw Fäolin fall, I understood then that the true agony of war isn't being wounded yourself, it's having to watch those you care about being hurt.

Saphira waved her tail, the tip whistling loudly. "I'm not asking you to. However, if we attack first, we may gain the advantage." "Have you gone crazy? They'll..." Eragon's voice trailed off as he thought about it. "They won't be able to do a thing." "Exactly," said Saphira. "We can inflict lots of damage from a safe height." "Let's drop rocks on them!

How noble. Oh we would fell many...-you with magic and blade, whilst my weapons would be tooth and claw-but it would be futile in the end. They are too numerous.... We cannot defeat them, only be defeated. - Saphira