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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #fantasy
Beware of self-indulgence. The romance surrounding the writing profession carries several myths: that one must suffer in order to be creative; that one must be cantankerous and objectionable in order to be bright; that ego is paramount over skill; that one can rise to a level from which one can tell the reader to go to hell. These myths, if believed, can ruin you. If you believe you can make a living as a writer, you already have enough ego. ↗
Fantasy is the impossible made probable. Science Fiction is the improbable made possible. ↗
#impossible #improbable #possible #probable #science-fiction
Music took her somewhere, and I used to wonder where. I thought it was dumb, the way she lived for a collection of sounds, for someone else's words and notes. ↗
We need to talk to you," said Carrot. "Do you want a lawyer?" "No, I ate already." "You *eat* lawyers?" said Carrot. "Brick gave him an empty stare until sufficient brain had been mustered. "What d'y'call dem fings, dey kinda crumble when you eat dem?" he ventured. Carrot looked at Detritus and Angua, to see if there was going to be any help there. "*Could* be lawyers," he conceded. "Dey go soggy if you dips 'em in somfing," said Brick, as if undertaking a forensic examination. "More likely to be biscuits, then?" Carrot suggested. "Could be. Inna packet wi' all paper on. Yeah, bisuits. ↗
You truly are the most astonishingly beautiful hobbit I’ve ever seen,” he said, and Tamsyn froze. “Hobbit??” “Um, yes?” he said, and Tamsyn looked down at herself in panic. Her suit had disappeared and been replaced by a straight dress in a rustic homespun fabric of a drab, brownish grey. Her hair still looked the same, she established when she grabbed a handful and held it up in front of her face, but when she scrabbled up and caught a glimpse of her feet, her legs immediately lost their strength again. She thudded back down hard and grabbed her left leg, yanking her foot up to her eyes. It was bare, large and very, very hairy. She checked her other foot as well, hoping against all laws of probability that it would be different, and groaned in consternation when it looked the same as the left one. “This can’t be true!” she wailed, scrambling to get up again. “I’m a hobbit! ↗
I laughed under my breath, and it sounded bitter. “Listen to me. What am I talking about, worth it? Is any experience or bit of beauty worth the cost of my life? I know nothing but safety and self-preservation at all costs.” “And yet,” he said softly, “you’re risking everything to help me. ↗
Firen didn’t waste any time setting up the meeting with Egnatious. The following day she was in such a rush to tell me about it that she burst into my room without knocking and found Andrew and me in an intimate and compromising position reminiscent of the game Twister. Also, I cannot confirm or deny if there was food involved. Let’s just say I toppled over in embarrassment, taking Andrew down with me in a great heap. Firen didn’t fare any better, as she nearly knocked herself out when she ran into the doorframe in an attempt to escape. We were both scarred for life, especially after Firen apologized for walking in on our “naked fun time,” which was apparently what Joseph called it. There were some things people should never know, and that was one of them. ↗
What had survived - maybe all that had survived of Trism - was Liir's sense of him. A catalog of impressions that arose from time to time, unbidden and often upsetting. From the sandy smell of his sandy hair to the locked grip of his muscles as they had wrestled in sensuous aggression - unwelcome nostalgia. Trism lived in Liir's heart like a full suit of clothes in a wardrobe, dress habillards maybe, hollow and real at once. The involuntary memory of the best of Trism's glinting virtues sometimes kicked up unquietable spasms of longing. ↗
