I will try to write books until I drop dead.

What on earth have you packed in here? Bricks?" asked Mo as he carried Meggie's book-box out of the house. You're the one who says books have to be heavy because the whole world's inside them," said Meggie.

The night belongs to beasts of prey, and always has. It's easy to forget that when you're indoors, protected by light and solid walls.

He flung his arms around her neck, but only once he saw Silvertoungue's back was turned. He never knew with fathers. "I'll save him, Meggie!" he wispered in her ear. "I'll bring Dustfinger back. This story will have a happy ending.I swear!

No prince had lived in those wretched hovels, no red-robed bishops, only farmers and laborers whose stories no one had written down, and now they were lost, buried under wild thyme and fast growing spurge.

I live in Hamburg; that's in the north. And I live on the outskirts of town. It looks like countryside.

Down there the nights are bright and nobody believes in the Devil.