Epics are never written about libraries. They exist on whim; it depends on if the conquering army likes to read. Patricia A. McKillip More Quotes by Patricia A. McKillip More Quotes From Patricia A. McKillip Imagination is the golden-eyed monster that never sleeps. It must be fed; it cannot be ignored. Patricia A. McKillip golden imagination sleep Night is not something to endure until dawn. It is an element, like wind or fire. Darkness is its own kingdom; it moves to its own laws, and many living things dwell in it. Patricia A. McKillip fire night moving Branches grew from his hands, his hair. His thoughts tangled like roots in the ground. He strained upward. Pitch ran like tears down his back. His name formed his core; ring upon ring of silence built around it. His face rose high above the forests. Gripped to earth, bending to the wind's fury, he disappeared within himself, behind the hard, wind-scrolled shield of his experiences. Patricia A. McKillip hair wind hands The odd thing about people who had many books was how they always wanted more. Patricia A. McKillip reading book people Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice. Patricia A. McKillip imagination dream writing She is our moon. Our tidal pull. She is the rich deep beneath the sea, the buried treasure, the expression in the owl's eye, the perfume in the wild rose. She is what the water says when it moves. Patricia A. McKillip eye moon moving It’s an odd thing, happiness. Some people take happiness from gold. Or black pearls. And some of us, far more fortunate, take their happiness from periwinkles. Patricia A. McKillip black gold people Words, he decided, were inadequate at best, impossible at worst. They meant too many things. Or they meant nothing at all. Patricia A. McKillip decided worst impossible At its best, fantasy rewards the reader with a sense of wonder about what lies within the heart of the commonplace world. The greatest tales are told over and over, in many ways, through centuries. Fantasy changes with the changing times, and yet it is still the oldest kind of tale in the world, for it began once upon a time, and we haven't heard the end of it yet. Patricia A. McKillip once-upon-a-time heart lying I write fantasy because it's there. I have no other excuse for sitting down for several hours a day indulging my imagination. Daydreaming. Thinking up imaginary people, impossible places. Patricia A. McKillip writing people thinking Imagination is best fed by reality, an odd diet for something nonexistent there are few details of daily life and its broad range of emotional context that can't be transformed into food for the imagination. Patricia A. McKillip emotional imagination reality If you have no faith in yourself, then have faith in the things you call truth. You know what must be done. You may not have courage or trust or understanding or the will to do it, but you know what must be done. You can't turn back. There is now answer behind you. You fear what you cannot name. So look at it and find a name for it. Turn your face forward and learn. Do what must be done. -Deth to Morgon, Prince of Hed- Patricia A. McKillip understanding names fear When you put your hands and mind and heart into the knowing of a thing ... there is no room in you for fear. Patricia A. McKillip knowing heart hands Wisdom never learned silence, and it is most annoying when least wanted. Patricia A. McKillip annoying silence wanted Here in Raine, I can walk with the sunlight on my face. I can speak to anyone who speaks to me. I can learn my daughter's language. I can be called the name I was given when I was born. Here I am no longer my own secret. Will you let me stay? Patricia A. McKillip daughter names here-i-am Love and anger are like land and sea: They meet at many different places. Patricia A. McKillip different land sea Then you will have to trust me. Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond hope, trust me. Patricia A. McKillip logic trust-me reason What do you think love is - a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it whither and die. I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing will fill the ache of the hollowness in me where your name would echo if I lost you. Patricia A. McKillip hurt heart love-is [Imagination] must be visited constantly, or else it begins to become restless and emit strange bellows at embarrassing moments; ignoring it only makes it grow larger and noisier. Patricia A. McKillip strange moments imagination The moon grew full, then slowly pared itself down until it shriveled into a ghostly boat riding above the roiling dark. Then it fell out of the sky. They climbed into it, left land behind, and floated out to sea. Patricia A. McKillip moon sea dark
