I held out my book. It was precious to me, as were all the things I'd written; even where I despised their inadequacy there was not one I would disown. Each tore its way from my entrails. Each had shortened… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
For me, everyone I write of is real. I have little true say in what they want, what they do or end up as (or in). Their acts appall, enchant, disgust or astound me. Their ends fill me with retributive… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
The humble were the elect of God. Did not the priests teach so, in their gemmed, kingly robes, from their towering pulpits? — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
“Having told of so much beauty, how is it possible to tell of her? There are no words left on the earth in any… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
As a child, my mother told me lots of fairy stories, many her own invention. She, too, tended to reverse the norm. — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
“Often misunderstood, Dionysus is far more than a wine deity. He is the Breaker of Chains, who rescues not only the flesh but the… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
In the usual way I submitted manuscripts to publishers. This was not so much a feeling that I should be published as a wish… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
If they had said my writing wasn't good enough, fair enough, that's an opinion. But to say it's too complex is to insult the… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
“Louisa beheld the grounds and house with the calm pleasure of one who has seen nothing, been nowhere, expects everything, and has little imagination.” — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
“All the Scarabae—all but one—were crowded in the garden. They watched her. Their grim old faces gave away nothing. Like elderly kiddies at a… — Tanith Lee Copy Share Image
