Lois McMaster Quotes
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I know girls who pine for it. They like to play dress-up and pretend being Vor ladies of old, rescued from menace by romantic Vor youths. For some reason they never play 'dying in childbirth', or 'vomiting your guts out from the red dysentery', or 'weaving till you go blind and crippled from arthritis and dye poisoning', or 'infanticide'. Well, they do die romantically of disease sometimes, but somehow it's always an illness that makes you interestingly pale and everyone sorry and doesn't involve losing bowel control.
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Wikipedia is so dangerous. You go online to look up the definition of eclampsia, and three hours later you find yourself reading this earnest explanation of tentacle porn in Japanese anime.
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Never do yourself, what you can con professionals into doing for you.
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I have a catch-phrase to describe my plot-generation technique -- 'What's the worst possible thing I can do to these people?'
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I don’t duel, boy. I kill as a soldier kills, which is as a butcher kills, as quickly, efficiently, and with as least risk to myself as I can arrange.
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I am increasingly convinced that technological culture is the entire root of women's liberation.
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A hundred objective measurements didn't sum the worth of a garden; only the delight of its users did that.
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One learns better than to hand one's choices to fear. With age, with every wound and scar, one learns.
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It's an ancient and honorable term for the final step in any engineering project. Turn it on, see if it smokes.
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I don't confuse greatness with perfection. To be great anyhow is the higher achievement.
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One corner of his mouth crooked up, then the quirk vanished in a thoughtful pursing of his lips. "He's bisexual, you know." He took a delicate sip of his wine. "Was bisexual," she corrected absently, looking fondly across the room. "Now he's monogamous." Vordarian choked, sputtering.
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Escapist literature gets a bad rap. But I think escape is important for a lot of people in a lot of places.
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A true Vor, Miles told himself severely, does not bury his face in his liegewoman's breasts and cry--even if he is at a convenient height for it.
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It's a bizarre but wonderful feeling, to arrive dead center of a target you didn't even know you were aiming for.
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This wasn't prayer anyway, it was just argument with the gods. Prayer, he suspected as he hoisted himself up and turned for the door, was putting one foot in front of the other. Moving all the same.
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You can say a lot in a little time, if you stick to words of one syllable.
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Poets speak of hope in ladies smiles, but give me a smirk any day, I say.
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Miles added it to his life's lessons list. Call it Rule 27B. Never make key tactical decisions while having electro-convulsive seizures.
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Read, or you will be missing something extraordinary.
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But have you ever overheard two women discussing men? Men are crude liars, comparing their drabs, but women - I'd rather have an anatomist dissect me alive than to listen to the things the ladies say about us when they think they are alone.
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He's not too short. He's just... concentrated.
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Honesty is the only way with anyone, when you'll be so close as to be living inside each other's skins.
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The rule for finding plots for character-centered novels, which is to ask: 'So what's the worst possible thing I can do to *this* guy?' And then do it.
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Mia Maz glanced aside in concern at his muffled snort. "Are you all right?" "Yes. Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just having an attack of limericks." Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip; only her deepening dimple betrayed her. "Shhh," she said, with feeling.