Her eyes were full of hate. Full. And... at the same time, empty. Soulless. Like those horrible creatures she keeps around her. The dragon was frightening... but Maleficent, she was bone-chilling.

Aurora looked into the mirror and smiled. She was pretty. She was a royal princess. There was about to be a ball. These were things she could, once in a while, allow herself to be happy about.

If she actually had friends, maybe she wouldn't have turned out so nasty and evil.

All know the way few actually walk it.

I don't think the intelligence reports are all that hot. Some days I get more out of the New York Times.

I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.

Light is the most important person in the picture.

It's not enough to rage against the lie.. you've got to replace it with the truth.

What matters in literature in the end is surely the idiosyncratic, the individual, the flavor or the color of a particular human suffering.

The camera is simply not the supple and powerful instrument of description that the pen is.

The idea which tyrants find most useful is the idea of God.

I think the US and the UK are gradually growing closer together in a lot of ways. They're inextricably linked.

It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment?