The humble were the elect of God. Did not the priests teach so, in their gemmed, kingly robes, from their towering pulpits?

I submitted manuscripts to publishers. This was not so much a feeling that I should be published as a wish to escape the feared and hated drudgery of normal work.

Maidens who stay maidens turn into saints. Old women become sorceresses. Tough jobs, both of these.

Writing is writing, and stories are stories. Perhaps the only true genres are fiction and nonfiction. And even there, who can be sure?

We need the expressive arts, the ancient scribes, the storytellers, the priests.

I also love Disney, and will defend doing so, because there's so much in those films and I don't care if it's stereotyped.

There was no violence, no speed. It moved to the rhythm of an elder dance, putting all the rituals of the world to shame. Black, silver, gold and moon-opal, night and sea, fire, earth, air and water.