The first author I remember being obsessed by, actually realizing 'I like the way he writes and I like the way he tells stories,' was C.S. Lewis and the 'Narnia' books.

Charitably... I think... sometimes, perhaps, one must change or die. And, in the end, there were, perhaps, limits to how much he could let himself change.

Until that moment she had never thought she could do it. Never thought she would be brave enough or scared enough, or desperate enough to dare.

You mourn, for it is proper to mourn. But your grief serves you; you do not become a slave to grief. You bid the dead farewell, and you continue.

You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it.

The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do.

If you read enough Lionel Fanthorpe, your brain starts to turn to jelly and just dribbles out of your ears.