I loved getting my M. B. A., and I really enjoyed being an accountant and financial analyst before I quit my day job twenty-five years ago to write full time. I just liked writing more…plus, I knew even then that as a full-time writer, I'd get plenty of chances to do business-type stuff, while as an accountant, I probably wouldn't get a lot of opportunities to write about dragons.

Murphy is a writer's best friend, but you have to keep an eye on him, or he'll steal the silver.

Well,” said the frog, “what are you going to do about it?”“Marrying Therandil? I don’t know. I’ve tried talking to my parents, but they won’t listen, and neither will Therandil.”“I didn’t ask what you’d said about it,” the frog snapped. “I asked what you’re going to do. Nine times out of ten, talking is a way of avoiding doing things.

Then they gave me a loaf of bread and told me to walk through the forest and give some to anyone who asked. I did exactly what they told me, and the second beggar-woman was a fairy in disguise, but instead of saying that whenever I spoke, diamonds and roses would drop from my mouth, she said that since I was so kind, I would never have any problems with my teeth.”“Really? Did it work?”“Well, I haven’t had a toothache since I met her.”“I’d much rather have good teeth than have diamonds and roses drop out of my mouth whenever I said something

Mendanbar took a deep breath. “You could stay here. At the castle, I mean. With me.” This wasn’t coming out at all the way he had wanted it to, but it was too late to stop now. He hurried on, “As Queen of the Enchanted Forest, if you think you would like that. I would.”“Would you, really?”“Yes,” Mendanbar said, looking down. “I love you, and—and—”“And you should have said that to begin with,” Cimorene interrupted, putting her arms around him.Mendanbar looked up, and the expression on her face made his heart begin to pound.“Just to be sure I have this right,” Cimorene went on with a blinding smile, “did you just ask me to marry you?”“Yes,” Mendanbar said. “At least, that’s what I meant.”“Good. I will.”Mendanbar tried to find something to say, but he was too happy to think. He leaned forward two inches and kissed Cimorene, and discovered that he didn’t need to say anything at all.

Sometimes, though, you have to do things for family, even if you'd rather not.

You can't force folks to have good sense, even if they're family. Maybe especially then.

Humility is as good for the soul as it is for the memory

Kim was more than a little inclined to snarl at him, but in the past few days she had learned that snarling at Mairelon did little good. He simply smiled and corrected her grammar.

Thank God!" he said, and kissed her.Kissing Mairelon was much nicer than anything she had ever dared to imagine, despite the headache.

Oliver has stated many times his dislike of hearing advice from his younger sister, so it is his own fault if he has not got sense enough to see which way the wind is blowing.

One of the things everybody seems to want to ask writers is, "Where do you get your ideas?" When people ask me this, my usual response is, "Ideas are the easy part. The hard part is writing them down.

News of Daniel's disappearance does not alarm me as it might have done a week ago. Given recent events, very little alarms me as it might have done a week ago. I feel as if my supply of alarm has been exhausted, at least temporarily.

Tell the story you want to tell, and let it be as long as it needs to be. Worry about marketing it later.

Is it your background, then?" Lord Franton smiled and shook his head. "That need not worry you. You're a wizard now; what you were before does not matter to me.""Yes, it does," Kim said softly. "Because part of the time you're sorry about it, and part of the time you think it makes me interesting, and part of the time you ignore it. But you never forget it.

You don’t understand,” Mairelon said dully. “Kim doesn’t want to marry a toff.”Was that what was bothering him? “Well, of all the bacon-brained, sapskulled, squirish, buffle-headed nod cocks!” Kim said with as much indignation as she could muster. “I was talking about the marquis, not about you!”Mairelon’s eyes kindled. “Then you would?”“You’ve whiddled it,” Kim informed him.As he kissed her again, she heard Mrs. Lowe murmur, “Mind your language, Kim,” and Shoreham say in an amused tone, “Yes, Your Grace, I believe thatwas an affirmative answer.

That is certainly one way to look at the matter. There are others.

(In reply to the question, 'Would you like some suggestions for a plot for your next book?')There are three problems with getting plot suggestions from other people. The first is that ideas are the easy part of writing; finding the time and energy to get them down on paper is the hard part. I have plenty of ideas already. Which brings me to the second problem: the ideas that excite you, the ones you think would make a terrific book, are not necessarily the same ideas that excite me. And if a writer isn't excited about an idea, she generally doesn't turn out a terrific book, even if the idea is terrific. And the third problem with my using your suggestions is that, theoretically, you could sue me if I did, and that tends to make publishers nervous, which makes it hard to sell a book. So thank you, but no.

He doesn't seem very impressed," Cimorene commented in some amusement."Why should he be?" Kazul said."Well, you're a dragon," Cimorene answered, a little taken aback."What difference does that make to a cat?

Four of us,' said Morwen. The cats yowled. 'Yes, I know, and of course you're coming, but you can't carry a bucket of soapy water, so for the purposes of this discussion it doesn't matter,' she told them. The cats gave her an affronted look, turned their backs, and began making indignant little noises at each other.

In fact, “talent” is as common as mud; what’s rare is the motivation to sit down and actually do something with one’s talent, the discipline to do it regularly, and the persistence to stick with it until it’s finished.

The voices belonged to dragons.Five of them lay on or sprawled over or curled around the various rocks and columns that filled the huge cave where Cimorene stood. Each of the males (there were three) had two short, stubby, sharp-looking horns on either side of their heads; the female dragon had three, one on each side and one in the center of her forehead. The last dragon was apparently still too young to have made up its mind which sex it wanted to be; it didn't have any horns at all.

I'd rather be eaten by a dragon.

It's a hard thing to risk what you know and are sure of, just for the possibility of something better. Even when it's a pretty strong possibility, and something that's a whole lot better.

The efficiency of the cleaning solution in liquefying wizards suggested the operation of an antithetical principal,which-" "Did you have to get him started?" Cimorene asked reproachfully.

Out here, it's better safe than sorry, because generally speaking, too much of the time sorry means you're dead.

Cecy, I do think it is unfair. People in novels are fainting all the time, and I never can, no matter how badly I need to.