Things bloosom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.

Because if you don't stand up for the stuff you don't like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you've already lost.

Just remember, what the French say. No, probably not the French, they've got a president or something. The Brits, maybe, or the Swedes. You know what I mean?" "No, Matthew. What do they say?" "The king is dead, that's what they say. The king is dead. Long live the king.

I suspect that most authors don't really want criticism, not even constructive criticism. They want straight-out, unabashed, unashamed, fulsome, informed, naked praise, arriving by the shipload every fifteen minutes or so.

You can't run away from home without destroying somebody's world.

Only the phoenix rises and does not descend. And everything changes. And nothing is truly lost.

People take on the shapes of the songs and the stories that surround them, especially if they don't have their own song.