I always thought it hadn't influenced me very much, but I heard from many people from England that many motives from German fairytales are to be found in my books.

The tent in which she first met him had smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had thought of it all as a game. She had promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.

Reality is a fragile thing.

I love to read, I love to watch movies, and I love to be with my children.

Neither Goyl nor men lived long enough to understand that yesterday was born of tomorrow, just as tomorrow was born of yesterday.

She had found him and was bringing back his thanks. Nor did she forget to mention that he had assured her that she was indeed the most beautiful fairy he had ever set eyes on.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.