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.

Who owns a man, Durnik?” the blond young man asked sadly. “The one who rules him, or the one who pays him?

Its a perfectly good face, Sparhawk." "It covers the front of my head. What else can you expect from a face?

I get up at an unholy hour in the morning my work day is completed by the time the sun rises. I have a slightly bad back which has made an enormous contribution to American literature.

Vella looked around. "This is really a revolting place, Yarblek," she told him. "You've been spending too much time with Porenn," he said. "You're starting to get delicate." "How would you like to have me gut you?" she offered. "That's my girl.

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

The first thing the boy Garion remembered was the kitchen at Faldor's farm. For all the rest of his life he had a special warm feeling for kitchens and those peculiar sounds and smells that seemed somehow to combine into a bustling seriousness that had to do with love and food and comfort and security and, above all, home. No matter how high Garion rose in life, he never forgot that all his memories began in that kitchen.