Shannon Hale Quotes - Page 3

Will you accompany me in this dance?” he said, bowing and holding out his hand.
“No, thank you.” Miri smiled.
The prince frowned and looked and the chief delegate as if for assistance.
Miri laughed self consciously. “I, uh, I was teasing.

Gerti didn’t ask for help.” Miri swallowed and tried to calm her quavering voice. “It was my fault.”
“So it was. Now you all have learned that those who speak out of turn choose punishment for themselves and anyone they speak to.”
“So if I speak to you, Tutor Olana, will you get the lashes?

Do you know the feeling you get when you are awakened in the middle of a dream? The dream story is still real and full of color, but the waking world is rushing back into your mind. And for a moment both worlds are true, and you cannot quite tell them apart.

Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.

It's good to cry a bit, 'cause that helps us get through the rough parts. And the winter is though, there's no doubt. But we just hang on until spring when that ache will be all but swallowed up.

Life feels like fall of itself.”
“'A dream within a dream.”
“And I want to wake up.

When you get tired of worrying and mourning your horse and trying not to be afraid, tell me and I'll do it for you a while so you can shut your eyes and sleep peaceful.

My friends call me by my name."
"You don't have any friends."
"I don't want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.

And Isi always listened, never told Enna she had been foolish, never said hollow things like 'You'll be all right.' . . . Isi saw Enna's struggle and her sadness, and she understood.

Courage is feeling justly afraid and yet still doing what is right.

Courage is not fearlessness.

Jane Austen had created six heroines, each quite different, and that gave Charlotte courage. There wasn't just one kind of woman to be.

That year, when the trees burned the fire of late summer into their leaves and the ground mist was a ghost of the river, long and wet and cold, the aunt looked from her windows to the walls around her and imagined another winter inside them. She began to see the world as a bird sees bars, and she scratched her arms beneath her sleeves.

I’m sorry, my lady,” said Geric, rubbing his arm. “But I failed to force an apology out of the offending goose.