Fantasy Authors

"Fantasy, by its power to move us so deeply, to dramatize, even melo-dramatize, morality, can be one of the most effective means of establishing a capacity for adult values."

"In the algebra of fantasy, A times B doesn't have to equal B times A. But, once established, the equation must hold throughout the story."

"The muse in charge of fantasy wears good, sensible shoes."

"Laws assure animals of protection – formally, officially, set down in black and white. But in the long run, the best protection is the human heart."

"“How then?” Taran asked. “Could The Book of Three deceive you?” “No, it could not.” Dallben said. “The book is thus called because it tells all three parts of our lives: the past, the present, and the future. But it could as well be called a book of ‘if.’ If you had failed at your tasks; if you had followed an evil path; if you had been slain; if you had not chosen as you did — a thousand ‘ifs,’ my boy, and many times a thousand. The Book of Three can say no more than ‘if’ until at the end, of all things that might have been, one alone becomes what really is. For the deeds of a man, not the words of a prophecy, are what shape his destiny.”"

"“Dyrnwyn is yours,” Gwydion said, “as it was meant to be.” “Yet Arawn is slain,” Taran replied. “Evil is conquered and the blade’s work done.” “Evil conquered?” said Gwydion. “You have learned much, but learn this last and hardest of lessons. You have conquered only the enchantments of evil. That was the easiest of your tasks, only a beginning, not an ending. Do you believe evil itself so quickly overcome? Not so long as men still hate and slay each other, when greed and anger goad them. Against these even a flaming sword cannot prevail, but only that portion of good in all men’s hearts whose flame can never be quenched."

"Evil cannot be conquered by wishing."

"And so they lived many happy years, and the promised tasks were accomplished. Yet long afterward, when all had passed away into distant memory, there were many who wondered whether King Taran, Queen Eilonwy, and their companions had indeed walked the earth, or whether they had been no more than dreams in a tale set down to beguile children. And, in time, only the bards knew the truth of it."

"...the book told him of other ways of the world; of cruelty, suffering, and death. He read of greed, hatred, and war; of men striving against one another with fire and sword; of the blossoming earth trampled underfoot, of harvests lost and lives cut short ... But now his heart lifted. These pages told not only of death, but of birth as well; how the earth turns in its own time and in its own way gives back what is given to it; how things lost may be found again; and how one day ends for another to begin. He learned that the lives of men are short and filled with pain, yet each one a priceless treasure, whether it be that of a prince or a pig-keeper. And, at the last, the book taught him that while nothing was certain, all was possible."

"Stones are all right, in their way," said Maibon. "But the trouble with them is, they don't grow."

"Mourn the dead by pitying the living."

"I see you for what you are, Lord of Death. And I fear you, as all men do. For all that, you are a weak and pitiful king. You can destroy, but never build. You are less than the humblest creature, the frailest blade of grass, for these live, and every moment of their lives is a triumph over you. Your kingdom is dust; only the silent ending of things, never the beginnings."

""You fail, Death-Lord! You destroy the instrument, but not its music. With all your power you have gained only a broken shell." In that moment, when the harp had been silenced, arose the songs of birds, the chiming of brooks, the humming of wind through grass and leaves; and all these voices took up the strands of melody, more beautiful than before. And the Lord of Death fled in terror of life."

"No doubt about it," said Coll to Hen Wen. "It is better to be raising things up than smiting things down. And quieter, into the bargain."

"“Long ago I yearned to be a hero without knowing, in truth, what a hero was. Now, perhaps, I understand it a little better. A grower of turnips or a shaper of clay, a Commot farmer or a king — every man is a hero if he strives more for others than for himself alone. Once,” he added, “you told me that the seeking counts more than the finding. So, too, must the striving count more than the gain. “Once, I hoped for a glorious destiny,” Taran went on, smiling at his own memory. “That dream has vanished with my childhood; and though a pleasant dream it was fit only for a child. I am well content as an Assistant Pig-Keeper.”"

"Orgoch gave a most ungentle snort. Orddu, meanwhile, had unfolded a length of brightly woven tapestry and held it out to Taran. “We came to bring you this, my duckling,” she said. “Take it and pay no heed to Orgoch’s grumbling. She’ll have to swallow her disappointment—for lack of anything better.” “I have seen this on your loom,” Taran said, more than a little distrustful. “Why do you offer it to me? I do not ask for it, nor can I pay for it.” “It is yours by right, my robin,” answered Orddu. “It does come from our loom, if you insist on strictest detail, but it was really you who wove it.” Puzzled, Taran looked more closely at the fabric and saw it crowded with images of men and women, of warriors and battles, of birds and animals. “These,” he murmured in wonder, “these are of my own life.” “Of course,” Orddu replied. “The pattern is of your choosing and always was.” “My choosing?” Taran questioned. “Not yours? Yet I believed...” He stopped and raised his eyes to Orddu. “Yes,” he said slowly, “once I did believe the world went at your bidding. I see now it is not so. The strands of life are not woven by three hags or even by three beautiful damsels. The pattern indeed was mine. But here,” he added, frowning as he scanned the final portion of the fabric where the weaving broke off and the threads fell unraveled, “here it is unfinished.” “Naturally,” said Orddu. “You must still choose the pattern, and so must each of you poor, perplexed fledglings, as long as thread remains to be woven.”"

"Draw Dyrnwyn, only thou of noble worth, to rule with justice, to strike down evil. Who wields it in good cause shall slay even the Lord of Death."

"Are these signs of hope, or do we deceive ourselves by wishing them to be?"

"Is there worse evil than that which goes in the mask of good?"

"A crown is a pitiless master, harsher than the staff of a pig-keeper; while a staff bears up, a crown weighs down, beyond the strength of any man to wear it lightly."

"“You are the oaken staff I lean on,” Taran said. “More than that.” He laughed. “You are the whole sturdy tree, and a true warrior.” Coll, instead of beaming, looked wryly at him. “Do you mean to honor me?” he asked. “Then say, rather, I am a true grower of turnips, and a gatherer of apples. No warrior whatever, save that I am needed thus for a while. My garden longs for me as much as I long for it.”"

"Take this as a gift from a crone to a maiden, and know there is not so much difference between the two. For even a tottering granddam keeps a portion of girlish heart, and the youngest maiden a thread of old woman’s wisdom."

"This much have I learned: A man’s life weighs more than glory, and a price paid in blood is a heavy reckoning."

"A crown is more discomfort than adornment. If you have learned that, you have already learned much."

"“Llonio said life was a net for luck; to Hevydd the Smith life was a forge; and to Dwyvach the Weaver-Woman a loom. They spoke truly, for it is all of these. But you,” Taran said, his eyes meeting the potter’s, “you have shown me life is one thing more. It is clay to be shaped, as raw clay on a potter’s wheel.”"

"“I saw myself,” Taran answered. “In the time I watched, I saw strength – and frailty. Pride and vanity, courage and fear. Of wisdom, a little. Of folly, much. Of intentions, many good ones; but many more left undone. In this, alas, I saw myself a man like any other. “But this, too, I saw,” he went on. “Alike as men may seem, each is different as flakes of snow, no two the same. You told me you had no need to seek the Mirror, knowing you were Annlaw Clay-Shaper. Now I know who I am: myself and none other. I am Taran.”"

"“When I was a child I dreamed of adventure, glory, honor in feats of arms. I think now that these things are shadows.” “If you see them as shadows then you see them for what they are,” Annlaw agreed. “Many have pursued honor, and in the pursuit lost more of it than ever they could gain.”"

"“Count yourself lucky,” the potter went on, “that you have understood this now and not spent your years in vain hope. This much have you learned, and no learning is wasted.”"

"I always thought cab drivers didn't pay attention to traffic, but this is ridiculous,"

"I suppose you don't have much time for enjoying music," Clary said, thinking of Simon, for whom music was his entire life, "in your line of work." He shrugged. "Maybe the occasional wailing chorus of the damned."

"If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have asked."

"Don't order any of the faerie food," said Jace, looking at her over the top of his menu. "It tends to make humans a little crazy. One minute you're munching a faerie plum, the next minute you're running naked down Madison Avenue with antlers on your head. Not," he added hastily, "that this has ever happened to me."

"Good idea," said Jace. "I shall be Baron Hotschaft Von Hugenstein."

"I didn't," said Jace. "At least, I didn't finish it. It's Magnus Bane." He grinned at Alec mockingly. "Rhymes with 'overcareful pain in the ass.'"

"A diary with no drawings of me in it? Where are the torrid fantasies? The romance novel covers? The-"

"To love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be destroyed."

"Well, I'd certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death."

"If there was such a thing as terminal literalism, you'd have died in childhood,"

"Where's Simon?" Clary interrupted. Isabelle wobbled. "He's a rat," she said darkly. "Did he do something to you?" Alec was full of brotherly concern. "Did he touch you? If he tried anything-" "No, Alec," Isabelle said irritably. "Not like that. He's a rat"

"When the self-congratulatory part of the evening is over, maybe we could get back to saving my best friend from being exsanguinated to death?"

"Vials of holy water, blessed knives, steel and silver blades, electrum wire-- not much use at the moment, but it's always good to have a spare--silver bullets, charm of protection, crucifixes, stars of David-" "Jesus," said Clary. "I doubt he'd fit."

"There might be a God, Clary, and there might not, but I don't think it matters. Either way, we're on our own."

"This is bad," said Jace. "You said that before." "It seemed worth repeating."

"I thought you guys said only some of the vampire bikes could fly?" "Only some of them can!" "How did you know this was one of them?" "I didn't!"

"Do you remember back at the hotel when you promised that if we lived, you'd get dressed up in a nurse's outfit and give me a sponge bath?" "Actually, I think you misheard," Clary said. "It was Simon who promised you the sponge bath." Jace looked involuntarily over at Simon, who smiled at him widely. "As soon as I'm back on my feet, handsome." "I knew we should have left you a rat."

"Much like postal service, demon hunters never sleep. 'Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these-'" "You'd be in major trouble if gloom of night did stay you."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you kissed me," he said. "I kissed you?" "Don't worry, it wasn't that memorable for me, either."

"A picnic? It's a little late for Central Park, don't you think? It's full of-" He waved a hand. "Faeries. I know." "I was going to say muggers," said Clary. "Though I pity the mugger who goes after you."

"She was afraid you'd freak out? Start seeing demons in the White House?"

"Well, when I was five, I wanted my mother to let me go around and around inside the dryer with the clothes," Clary said. "The difference is, she didn't let me." "Probably because going around and around inside a dryer can be fatal," Jace pointed out, "whereas pasta is rarely fatal. Unless Isabelle makes it."