Erin Morgenstern Quotes

Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.

A woman I should like to think I know rather well and a woman I had always considered a mystery, are in fact the same person.

I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.

How are you managing to keep everyone from aging?” Celia asks after a while. “Very carefully,” Marco answers.

And now, I'm a best selling author, a different sort of fairy tale that I still sometimes wonder when I'll wake up from.

I do not mourn the loss of my sister because she will always be with me, in my heart," she says. "I am, however, rather annoyed that my Tara has left me to suffer you lot alone. I do not see as well without her. I do not hear as well without her. I do not feel as well without her. I would be better off without a hand or a leg than without my sister. Then at least she would be here to mock my appearance and claim to be the pretty one for a change. We have all lost our Tara, but I have lost a part of myself as well.

You're in the right place at the right time, and you care enough to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that's enough.

Have you tried the cinnamon things?" Poppet asks. "They're rather new. What are they called, Widge?" "Fantastically delicious cinnamon things?

The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.

Her father picks different names for her as they change locales, but he uses Miranda often, presumably because he knows how much it annoys her.

Each of them always gravitating toward the other. Yet still they do not touch.

Celia laughs and a curl of her hair falls across her cheek. Marco tentatively moves to brush it off her face, but before his fingers reach her, she pushes herself off the ledge, her silver gown a billowing cloud as she falls onto the pile of jewel-toned cushions.

You look like a ghost," Bailey says. He can think of no better way to describe it. "You appear the same way to me, so which of us is real?

I wished for her,” he says.

I cannot let a place that is so important to so many people fade away. Something that is wonder and comfort and mystery all together that they have nowhere else. If you had that, wouldn't you want to keep it?

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.

...the thrill of being surrounded by something wondrous and fantastical, only magnified and focused directly at her. The feel of his skin against hers reverberates across her entire body, though his fingers remain entwined in hers.

Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind...."Trust me," Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.

Because I do not wish to know,” he says. “I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark.

"I am already married," she remarks to the empty air, twisting the ring on her right hand that covers an sold, distinctive scar.

I draft quickly and then revise, a lot.

I'm an emotional sort of person in general and I have a vivid imagination, so I feel the whole spectrum of emotion strongly when I write.

Sometimes I write what I can't paint, and I paint what I can't write. I use a different part of the brain.

That's the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.

I find I think of myself not as a writer so much as someone who provides a gateway, a tangential route for readers to reach the circus. To visit the circus again, if only in their minds, when they are unable to attend it physically. I relay it through printed words on crumpled newsprint, words that they can read again and again, returning to the circus whenever they wish, regardless of time of day or physical location. Transporting them at will. When put that way, it sounds rather like magic, doesn't it? p.369

He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.

...He is sure that the Bailey he is now is closer to the Bailey he is supposed to be than the Bailey he had been before

I don't always write in order, so composing multi-book stories could get complicated.

I don't have any particular rituals, I sometimes like to write in longhand when I'm searching for ideas but I do the vast majority by typing, I can't always keep up with my thoughts longhand. I'm not a coffee shop writer because I feel obliged to order more coffee and then I end up over-caffeinated.

But you built me dreams instead.

The funeral is a quiet one, despite the number of mourners present. There are no sobs or flailing handkerchiefs. There is a smattering of color amongst the sea of traditional black. Even the light rain cannot push it down into the realms of despair. It rests instead in a space of thoughtful melancholy.

You told me love was fickle and fleeting.

Once they were librarians, but that is a subject they will only discuss if heavily intoxicated.

So it’s really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.

Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars.

Scent is often underestimated, when it can be the most evocative.

He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself.

But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.

Though I have seen a great deal of the sights, traveled a number of the available paths, there are always corners that remain unexplored, doors that remain unopened.

You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul

The circus itself is my personal ideal entertainment venue.

Everything I have done, every change I have made to that circus, every impossible feat and astounding sight, I have done for her.

Comic-Con was crazy, good crazy... Five minutes after I'm done, the cast of 'Twilight' is where I was sitting.

I binge write. I think it's because I started seriously writing by participating in National Novel Writing Month, an online-based challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

Kelly Link is inimitable. Her stories are like nothing else, dark yet sparkling with her unique brand of fairy dust. This is the most marvelous kind of trouble to get in.

The silence that falls between them is a comfortable one. He longs to reach over and touch her, but he resists, fearful of destroying the delicate camaraderie they are building. He steals glances instead, watching the way the light falls over her skin. Several times he catches her regarding him in a similar manner, and the moments when she holds his eyes with hers are sublime.

Natural talent is a questionable phenomenon. Inclination perhaps, but innate ability is extremely rare.

The night that seemed endless hours before is now slipping through your fingers, ticking by as it falls into the past and pushes you towards the future.