We Hate Most In Others What We

He Was Twenty. I Remembered Twenty. I'd Known Everything At Twenty. It Took Me Another Year To Realize I Knew Nothing. I Was Still Hoping To Learn Something Before I Hit Thirty, But I Wasn't Holding My Breath.

I've Lost Track Of The Number Of People Who Want To Be Writers But Never Actually Write Anything. Talking About Writing, Dreaming About Writing, Can Be Very Fun, But It Won't Get A Book Written. You've Got To Write

Do You Really Have The Ability To Control All Types Of Undead?" Magnus Asked. "can You Really Make A Hundred Shoes In A Single Night?" I Asked. Magnus Smiled. "wrong Kind Of Fairie.

Twenty-three Stories Up And All I Could See Out The Windows Was Grey Smog. They Could Call It The City Of The Angels If They Wanted To, But If There Were Angels Out There, They Had To Be Flying Blind.

The Best Lies Are Always At Least Partially True.