Gail Carson Levine Quotes

But the lost one is with you.
Her tenderness strengthens you,
Her gaiety uplifts you,
Her honor purifies you.
More than memory,
The lost one is found.

Once I had overheard Bertha tell Mandy that he was only a person on the outside and that his insides were ashes mixed with coins and a brain.
But Mandy had disagreed. 'He's a human through and through. No other creature would be as selfish as he is, not fairies or gnomes or elves or giants.

I was born singing. Most babies cry, I sang an aria.

No, I won't marry you. I won't do it. No one can force me.

No one is here," Char said. "You need resist temptation no longer." "Only if you slide too." "I'll go first so I can catch you at the bottom." He flew down so incautiously that I suspected him of years of practice in his own castle. It was my turn. The ride was a dream, longer and steeper than the rail at home. The hall rose to meet me, and Char was there. He caught me and spun me around.

Why do you keep reading a book? Usually to find out what happens. Why do you give up and stop reading it? There may be lots of reasons. But often the answer is you don't care what happens. So what makes the difference between caring and not caring? The author's cruelty. And the reader's sympathy ... it takes a mean author to write a good story.

Kisses were better than potions.

Climb the day, Drop your dreams, Possess the day.

Oak, granite,
Lilies by the road,
Remember me?
I remember you.
Clouds brushing
Clover hills,
Remember me?
Sister, child,
Grown tall,
Remember me?
I remember you.

I loved fairy tales as a kid. I've always been drawn to fantasy. They're always exciting. There's never a dull moment. I just love the embellishments and the magical stuff. It's such fun to work with and to re-imagine your own way.

I had to write something and couldn't think of a plot, so I decided to write a Cinderella story because it already had a plot! Then, when I thought about Cinderella's character, I realized that she was too much of a goody-two-shoes for me, and I would hate her before I finished ten pages.

Love shouldn't be dictated

I became simply a pair of eyes, staring through my mask at Char. I needed no ears because I was too far off to hear his voice, no words because I was too distant for speech, and no thoughts - those I saved for later. He bent his head. I loved the hairs on the nape of his neck. He moved his lips. I admired their changing shape. He clasped his hand. I blessed his fingers. Once, the power of my gaze drew his eyes ...

I love having written. Sometimes I love writing. I love to revise. Revising is my favorite part of writing.

No music. No rituals. At home I write in my office or on the laptop in the kitchen where our puppy likes to sleep, and I love his company. But I've trained myself to be able to work anywhere, and I write on trains, planes, in automobiles (if I'm not the driver), airports, hotel rooms. I travel often. If I couldn't write wherever I was I would get little done. I also can write in short bursts. Fifteen minutes are enough to move a story forward.

That fool of a fairy Lucinda did not intend to lay a curse on me. She meant to bestow a gift. When I cried inconsolably through my first hour of life, my tears were her inspiration. Shaking her head sympathetically at Mother, the fairy touched my nose. "My gift is obedience. Ella will always be obedient. Now stop crying, child."
I stopped.

In that moment I found a power beyond any I'd had before, a will and a determination I would never have need if not for Lucinda, a fortitude I hadn't been able to find for a lesser cause.

Encourage children to write their own stories, and then don't rain on their parade. Don't say, 'That's not true.' Applaud flights of fantasy. Help with spelling and grammar, but stand up and cheer the use of imagination.

If beginnings terrify you, or if you just plain don't like writing them, or if they bore you, skip 'em.

Managing to tell a story is very gratifying.

But my last conscious thought was an image of Prince Char when he'd caught the bridle of Sir Stephan's horse. His face had been close to mine. Two curls had spilled onto his forehead. A few freckles dusted his nose, and his eyes said he was sorry for me to go.

In books and in life, you need to read several pages before someone's true character is revealed.

Queer Ducks flock together.

To pretend I was sliding down the stair rail." He laughed again. " You should have done it. I would have caught you at the bottom.

I loved fairy tales as a kid, so that's where my mind gravitates.

He loved me. He'd loved me as long as he he'd known me! I hadn't loved him as long perhaps, but now I loved him equally well, or better. I loved his laugh, his handwriting, his steady gaze, his honorableness, his freckles, his appreciation of my jokes, his hands, his determination that I should know the worst of him. And, most of all, shameful though it might be, I loved his love for me.

Do not beat up on yourself. Do not criticize your writing as lousy, inadequate, stupid, or any of the evil epithets that you are used to heaping on yourself. Such self-bashing is never useful. If you indulge in it, your writing doesn't stand a chance. So when your mind turns on you, turn it back, stamp it down, shut it up, and keep writing.

I didn't want to be a writer. First I wanted to act, and then I wanted to be a painter like my big sister.

I put my fingers around the unmarked ring of the spyglass and twisted. The scene became clear.
Oh no! A hairy brown spider clung to a vine! I couldn't go there!
I'd go to the desert to find a dragon. I began to reset the spyglass, but then I stopped myself. A spider was worse than a dragon?
No.
My first monsters would be spiders, then.

I'm more interested in plot than theme, but I hope my values find their way into my stories: kindness, sympathy, effort, and humor!

... He was only a person on the outside and... his insides were ashes mixed with coins and a brain.

I decided to draw her doing something, because she always was.

When you become a teenager, you step onto a bridge. You may already be on it. The opposite shore is adulthood. Childhood lies behind. The bridge is made of wood. As you cross, it burns behind you

Everyone called it losing Mother, but she wasn't lost. She was gone, and no matter where I went - another town, another country, Fairyland, or Gnome Caverns - I wouldn't find her

I gathered them on my stomach and waited for sleep. But sleep was busy elsewhere.

Crying is part of the adventure

I found that I was much more interested in writing and that I didn't like the illustrating at all. I had always been the hardest on myself when I drew and painted. I am not hard on myself when I write. I like what I write, so it is a much happier process.

i wasnt frightened of it. The gray death wasn't a monster or a spider i could see and shiver over. It was invisible. If I caught it would be somewhere within me and while the outside world was full of danger I knew my interior I was certain I could oust an intruder there.

I wonder how Admat can be everywhere. Is he in my sandal? Or is he my sandal itself? Why would a god bother to be a sandal? Does he wear shoes or sandals himself, invisible ones?

We don't do big magic. Lucinda's the only one. It's too dangerous."
"What's dangerous about ending a storm?"
"Maybe nothing, maybe something. Use your imagination."
"Clear skies would be good. People could go outside."
"Use your imagination," Mandy repeated.
I thought. "The grass needs rain. The crops need rain."
"More," Mandy said.
"Maybe a bandit was going to rob someone, and he isn't doing it because of the weather."
"That's right. Or maybe I'd start a drought, and then I'd have to fix that because I started it. And then maybe the rain I sent would knock down a branch and smash in the roof of a house, and I'd have to fix that too."
"That wouldn't be your fault. The owners should have built a stronger roof."
"Maybe, maybe not. Or maybe I'd cause a flood and people would be killed. That's the problem with big magic. I only do little magic

He is flawless, without a blemish. Majesic ... muscular.

[Fairies] had faults, but they were perfectly themselves. Vidia, for instance, who was the fastest flier, didn't care about anybody but herself. She was by no means perfect, but she was perfectly Vidia. Fairies were concentrated, like bouillon cubes.

When I write, I make discoveries about my feelings.

Contemporary fiction is the hardest for me because I am not really in the popular culture - I don't watch TV.

Father asks frequently in his letters whether I fancy any Ayorthaian young lady or any in our acquaintance at home. I say no I suppose I'm confessing another fault: pride. I don't want him to know that I love if my affections are not returned

Perhaps you couldn't help being angry... but you could certainly stop yourself from repaying one offense with another.

Hush Hattie!" I said, intoxicated with my success. "I don't want to go to my room. Everyone must know I shan't marry the prince." I ran to the door to our street, opened it, and called out into the night, "I shan't marry the prince." I turned back into the hall and ran to Char and threw my arms about his neck. "I shan't marry you." I kissed his cheek. He was safe from me.

She asks why I like her. Might as well ask Why I breathe. Maybe tomorrow I won't Breathe or like her Anymore. Maybe tomorrow the tides Will stop. Maybe tomorrow will bring No more rainbows. Maybe tomorrow She will stop Asking useless questions.

Fate...may...be...thwarted.

But what I really long to know you do not tell either: what you feel, although I've given you hints by the score of my regard. You like me. You wouldn't waste time or paper on a being you didn't like. But I think I've loved you since we met at your mother's funeral. I want to be with you forever and beyond, but you write that you are too young to marry or too old or too short or too hungry
until I crumple your letters up in despair, only to smooth them out again for a twelfth reading, hunting for hidden meanings.

My good ideas are shy. But if they see that I treat the stupid ideas with respect, they come forward.

Perhaps we can come here together someday. By the way, you're a month older than the last time I saw you. Are you still too young to marry.

Most of my job life has had to do with welfare, first helping people find work and then as an administrator. The earlier experience was more direct and satisfying, and I enjoy thinking that a bunch of people somewhere are doing better today than they might have done if not for me.

I had been able to break the curse myself. I'd had to have reason enough, love enough to do it, to find the will and the strength.

I never met a word I didn't love

Most of the authors I liked were dead, so it didn't seem like a safe occupation.

I know all about you," Char announced after we'd taken a few more steps. "You do? How could you?" "Your cook and our cook meet at the market. She talks about you." He looked sideways at me. "Do you know much about me?

Instead of making me docile, Lucinda's curse made a rebel of me. Or perhaps I was that way naturally.

Curse made a rebel of me. Or perhaps I was that way naturally. Mother rarely insisted I do anything. Father

I think kids abandon stories all the time. They start stories and get frustrated or get a different, better idea. I think that it is more worthwhile to stick with a story and revise it and try to finish it than abandon ship. Revisions, for any writer, are the name of the game.

…while the outside world was full of danger, I knew my interior. I was certain that I could oust an intruder there.

Everyone else reached the Shores of Sleep, but I remained oceans away.

To me, merely and pretty were words that had nothing to do with each other. Pretty went with miraculously, and merely belonged in another paragraph entirely.

I didn't write professionally at first. It took me nine years to get anything published. At the beginning I mostly wrote picture books, which were rejected by every children's book publisher in America. The first book of mine to be accepted for publication was ELLA ENCHANTED, and not one but two publishers wanted it. That day, April 17, 1996, was one of the happiest in my life.

My contrariness kept Char laughing, and his goodness kept me in love.

If I couldn't sleep, I could read.

You're Only the fairest when your fairest to yourself

Do you like to slide?" His voice was eager.
Stair rails! Did he suspect me? I forced a sigh. "No, Majesty. I'm terrified of heights."
"Oh." His polite tone had returned.
"I wish I could enjoy it. This fear of heights is an affliction."
He nodded, a show of sympathy but not much interest. I was losing him.
"Especially," I added, "as I've grown taller.

The Writer's Oath
I promise solemnly:
1. to write as often and as much as I can,
2. to respect my writing self, and
3. to nurture the writing of others.
I accept these responsibilities and shall honor them always.

You see, writing down your meanderings gets something started deep in the recesses of your brain. That distant part of your mind knows that you want to write stories or poems or plays and not endless jabber, and it will get to work. It may take a while. You may have to write this stuff for hours or days or weeks, but eventually that subterranean part of your brain will come through and begin to send you ideas.

I don't wait for inspiration. Writing is my job.

Byjadh heemyeh odh ubaech achoedzaY Foolishness may have golden offspring. I hope yours does.

A library is infinity under a roof.

I pushed
your boat
out of the gentle
stream

where
you were merrily
singing
and rowing

Forgive me
life
is but
a nightmare

He stopped and took my hand. "If we die, or if I die ... "
He was speaking of dying, and I couldn't stop smiling.
In the dark he must not have noticed, because he said in a rush, "I must tell you that I love you, and if I live I will ask for your hand, but you needn't say anything now if it distresses you, and I might rather die without knowing that you don't love me if that's how you feel."
I tried to speak, but nothing came. I had gained courage during my adventures, but not for this.
"Addie?"
Too soft to hear, I whispered, "I do love you."
But he heard. He cupped his hand under my chin and tilted my face up so I had to meet his eyes. He was smiling too, with a smile as happy as mine. "Oh, Addie!" He leaned down to kiss me ...

I never saw a lad, page or prince, so eager to learn to do a thing right.

Daughter, we didn't need your note - or a prince's visit - to tell us you'd done nothing wrong. We know the daughter we raised. We fear for your future, but never for your character. You take our love and our trust wherever you wander.
Father.

I want to be with you forever and beyond...

I'm solitary as a pulled tooth, Lonely as an unwelcome truth, Lost as a minnow out of school, A genius in a crop of fools.

Voices and faces aren't manifestations
of good or bad.

I have a very vivid memory of the way my parents spoke, and the 50's that I grew up in are closer to the 20's, I think, than today in many, many ways.

Darling, everyone is beautiful in her own
way, and I am a fairy.

That the book is really good. and theres a prince in it to.

I didn't think [Ella Enchanted] would get published. Everything I'd written till then had been rejected. If it was published, I thought it might sell a few thousand copies and go out of print. I thought if I was lucky I could write more books and get them published, too. I still pinch myself over the way things have worked out.

I shan't marry a prince!

If a big person invests time in reading, kids learn reading is important, the child is important, words are important, stories are important.

It feels presumptuous to think of writing for adults.

I'd never before been infatuated with someone living, someone real.

Things change, people change, but that doesn't mean you should forget the past.

Food for thought requires a mind with teeth.

That's funny, you're funny. I like you, I'm quite taken by you.