A broken clock is right two times a day.

At first he thought he felt bad because he was afraid of leading an army, but it wasn't true. He knew he'd make a good commander. He felt himself wanting to cry. He hadn't cried since the first few days of homesickness after he got here. He tried to put a name on the feeling that put a lump in his throat and made him sob silently, however much he tried to hold it down. He bit down on his hand to stop the feeling, to replace it with pain. It didn't help.

I've watched through his eyes, I've listened through his ears, and I tell you he's the one.

The difference between science fiction and fantasy … is simply this: science fiction has rivets and fantasy has trees.

Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.

I carry the seeds of death within me and plant them wherever I linger long enough to love.

One judge is coughing his life out into bloody handkerchiefs and the other is burying his wife, and you think this is how God answers your prayers?