When the mountain quaked Like an elbow's nudge Like a shout that something is wrong The people awoke and Knew, yes, knew, that bandits had come

Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.

I need to admit up front that I don't know how to have a fling. I'm not good at playing around and then saying good-bye. I'm throwing myself at your feet because I'm hoping for a shot at forever." Henry Jenkins/Mr. Nobley

Razo was sorely tempted to assert that all was true and he'd lost his horns and tail in a tragic childhood accident

Does anyone smell roasting meat?' said Razo, 'Oh, wait, it's just Geric's face.

Enna leaned back her head and laughed at the sky. 'Of course he wasn't! Who could kill Razo?

I know they are naught things, but I devour novels.” (p. 57).