She finds tales everywhere, in grains of sand she picks up from the garden, in puffs of smoke that drift out from the chimneys of the village, in fragments of smooth timber or glass in the jetsam. She will ask them, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" And they will answer her in voices very like her own, but with new lilts and squeaks and splashes in them that show they are their own.
David AlmondThe best tip for writing is just to write; to sit down and write, to begin doing it and not to be scared by the blank page.
David AlmondThey say that shoulder blades are where your wings were, when you were an angel," she said. "They say they're where your wings will grow again one day.
David AlmondWhat are you?" I whispered. He shrugged again. "Something," he said. "Something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel." He laughed. "Something like that.
David Almond