Life is hard . . . but we cling to it all the same

Her last conscious thought was disgust at life; her senses had lied to her. The world was not made of energy and delight but of foulness, betrayal, and lassitude. Living was hateful, and death was no better, and from end to end of the universe this was the first and last and only truth.

One of the ways in which writers most show their inventiveness is in the things they tell us about how they write. Generally speaking, I don't like to make a plan before I've written a story. I find it kills the story - deadens it, makes it uninteresting. Unless I'm surprised by something in a story, the reader's not going to be surprised either.

I'm just trying to wake up - I'm so afraid of sleeping all my life and then dying - I want to wake up first. I wouldn't care if it was just for an hour, as long as I was properly alive and awake.

And then what?" said her daemon sleepily. "Build what?" "The Republic of Heaven," said Lyra.

...because where we are is always the most important place.

For every once upon a time there must be a story to follow, because if a story doesn't, something else will, and it might not be as harmless as a story.