How often have I met and disliked writers whose books I love; and conversely, hated the books and then wound up liking the writer? Too often.

The life I should be living had been mislaid through some clerical error by the cosmic bureaucracy.

It turns out that there is something that can compete with free: easy.

In a way fighting was just like using magic. You said the words, and they altered the universe. By merely speaking you could create damage and pain, cause tears to fall, drive people away, make yourself feel better, make your life worse.

That was the thing about the world: it wasn't that things were harder than you thought they were going to be, it was that they were hard in ways that you didn't expect.

I think every fantasy reader secretly believes they know how magic works.

More than fantasy or even science fiction, Ray Bradbury wrote horror, and like so many great horror writers he was himself utterly without fear, of anything. He wasn't afraid of looking uncool - he wasn't scared to openly love innocence, or to be optimistic, or to write sentimentally when he felt that way.