There Are Not So Many Mythical Creatures

Beauty And Fear Make Uneasy Companions

The Tent In Which She First Met Him Had Smelled Of Blood, Of The Death She Did Not Understand, And Still She Had Thought Of It All As A Game. She Had Promised Him The World. His Flesh In The Flesh Of His Enemies. And Much Too Late Had She Realized What He Had Sown In Her. Love. Worst Of All Poisons.

Where Did The Love Come From? What Was It Made Of?

You Really Don't Understand The First Thing About Writing...for One Thing, Early In The Morning Is The Worst Possible Time. The Brain Is Like A Wet Sponge At That Hour. And For Another, Real Writing Is A Question Of Staring Into Space And Waiting For The Right Ideas.

Life Was More Difficult In Inkheart, Yet It Seemed To Meggie That With Every New Day Fenoglio's Story Was Spinning A Magic Spell Around Her Heart, Sticky As A Spider's Web And Enchantingly Beautiful.