Oh, love. Love is best of all. There is no such total element, not even pain. Who has ever loved, knows this. I need not say more.

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

The bitterness of joy lies in the knowledge that is cannot last. Nor should joy last beyond a certain season, for, after that season, even joy would become merely habit.

She looked, and a scarlet butterfly flew away from her, away down the length of the tower, and then another, another, an unraveling scarf of butterflies like winged blood.

Archetypes are universal, and, in subtle or extravagant ways, interchangeable.

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

The soul is a magician. Only living flesh hampers it.

When I am fascinated by something, I like to play with it.

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.

No one is ever ordinary.

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

Critics write out of intellectual exercise, not poets. Poets write straight from the heart.

Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with.

Death might be a blessing if it means you never have to face this kind of grief.

If you wait until the next upgrade, you will never upgrade.

Team synergy has an extraordinary impact on business results.

I've always had fond memories of cooking Thanksgiving.

These atheist cultures were certainly diligent in preserving the relics of their saints.

I've been on a tweeting mission.

Fiction is the only way I know a human being can inhabit the mind of another human being.

I belong deeply to myself.