If I could sum it up in 50 words, I wouldn't have needed to write a whole novel about it.

Old Cob tucked away his bowl of stew with the predatory efficency of a lifetime bachelor.

Coming to grips with being a bit of a celebrity. That's not anything I ever expected to have to deal with in my life.

Fantasy is a genre that allows me to create anything I want. That, in turn, allows me to explore any sort of idea I'm curious about. I love it because Fantasy is a genre that asks, "What if...?" That's my favorite question.

Simmon pushed his hair out of his eyes, laughing boyishly. "You can't argue your way out of this one! She's obviously stupid for you. And you're just plain stupid, so it's a great match.

Over his own dark Cealdish beard. "Nothing like your marvelous facebear.

Death was like an unpleasant neighbor. You didn’t talk about him for fear he might hear you and decide to pay a visit.