Nothing that ever happens is so unimportant that it doesn't change things.

It's gaudy, ugly, and in terribly bad taste. It does, however, suit my personality almost perfectly.

If you'd just try, I'm sure you'd be able to fly.

This is terrible, when a writer is bored by his own work, but it was a real bomb and had reached the point where I couldn't even stand to look at it any more.

Whatever happened to him?" Silk asked. "He went swimming in the Nedrane." "I didn't know that Thulls swam all that well." "They don't–particularly not with large rocks tied to their feet.

The dullest man in the world is charming beyond belief when he's pouring gold coins from one hand to the other.

What happened to your foot?" "I had a little disagreement with an eagle --stupid birds, eagles. He couldn't tell the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. I had to educate him. He bit me while I was tearing out a sizable number of his wing feathers." "Uncle," Polgara said reproachfully. "He started it.