So Lyra and her daemon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky.

So Lyra and her daemon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky.

I am a story teller. If I wanted to send a message I would have written a sermon.

It’s like having to make a choice: a blessing or a curse. The one thing you can’t do is choose neither.

Men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, and clever.

She was riding a bear! And the Aurora was swaying above them in golden arcs and loops, and all around was the bitter Arctic cold and the immense silence of the North.

If you want to write anything that works, you have to go with the grain of your talent, not against it. If your talent is inert and sullen in the face of business or politics...but takes fire at the thought of ghosts and vampires and witches and demons then feed the flames, feed the flames.