It seems to me further, that it is very odd that fate should leave so careful a trail, and spend so little time preparing the one that must follow it.

The story is always better than your ability to write it. My belief about this is that if you ever get to the point that you think you've done a story justice, you're in the wrong business.

He looked at her rather as a man looks at a problem that he would very much prefer to do without. She supposed it was a distinction of a sort to be a harassment to a king.

She fell asleep, leaning on his chest, and he edged her a little off a particularly painful bruise, leaned his head back against the tree he had propped them up against, and closed his own eyes.

We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.

Because she was a princess she had a pegasus.

The Lone Ranger of vampires. Did that make me Tonto?