Only yesterday a young woman came to me wanting a trap set for a man with a sweet smile and lithe arms. She was a fool, not for wanting him, but for wanting more of him than that.

Men see what they are most afraid of.

I write fantasy because it's there. I have no other excuse for sitting down for several hours a day indulging my imagination. Daydreaming. Thinking up imaginary people, impossible places.

The moon grew full, then slowly pared itself down until it shriveled into a ghostly boat riding above the roiling dark. Then it fell out of the sky. They climbed into it, left land behind, and floated out to sea.

The odd thing about people who had many books was how they always wanted more.

When you put your hands and mind and heart into the knowing of a thing ... there is no room in you for fear.

All I wanted, even when I hated you most, was some poor, barren, parched excuse to love you. But you only gave me riddles.