We're all liars when it serves our purpose.

And I plan to write a sequel to Dragon Rider.

The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness - and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly.

And I always read the English translation and always have conversations with my translator, for example about the names. I always have to approve it.

What was a slap for ten pages of escapism, ten pages far from everything that made him unhappy, ten pages of real life instead of the monotony that other people called the real world?

How fast the ears learned to tell what sounds meant, much faster than it took the eyes to decipher written words.

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.