I cannot write to anyone outside myself--if I tried, it would be a horrible story, flat and lifeless. I write to myself. That's the only person I'm trying to please. — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
“Well, write me into the list of Those Who Don’t Mind a Bit,” said Cupid, eyeing his perfectly toned arms and chest. “My, but… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
Enna leaned back her head and laughed at the sky. 'Of course he wasn't! Who could kill Razo? — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
“Um… I guess that’s that,” said Cerise. “That?” said Maddie. “That is never that. This is that. Or else that is this. And this… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
Geric," she called. He turned back around. "What kind of flowers were they?" "I don't rightly know," he said. He made faltering gestures with… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
How I keep trying to force our story into a fairy tale, but from the beginning, it's been more like a nursery rhyme." "Bizarre… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
“He wildly combed his hair with his fingers. “I can’t bear to be out there with you right now, all those indifferent people watching… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
But, how do you know if an ending is truly good for the characters unless you've traveled with them through every page? — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
The snow was too light to stay, the ground too warm to keep it. And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden… — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts. — Shannon Hale Copy Share Image
