Patricia A. McKillip

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Patricia A. McKillip

Patricia Anne McKillip (born 29 February 1948) is an American author of fantasy and science fiction novels.


Short fiction[edit]

  • He kissed her anyway, lightly on the cheek, before she turned to get her coat, thinking how long he had known her and how little he knew her and how little he knew of how much or little there was in her to know.

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld (1974)[edit]

All page numbers from the Magic Carpet Books paperback edition
  • What concern of mine are your affairs? Or Coren’s? What kind of peace would there be in me or in my house if I took interest in the wars and feuds that you weave in the courts below? I do not understand such things. I understand only what lies within my walls.
    • Chapter 3, p. 85.
  • I do not want to choose which one of you I must love or hate. Here, I am free to do neither. I want no part of your bitterness.
    • Chapter 3, p. 87.
  • Men see what they are most afraid of.
    • Chapter 4, p. 94.
  • The small red eyes regarded him, unblinking. “What would you give me for all the wisdom of the world?”
    “Nothing.” He turned back to his work. “I have heard you know the answers to every riddle save one. That will be the one I need answering.”
    • Chapter 4, p. 105.
  • Wisdom never learned silence, and it is most annoying when least wanted.
    • Chapter 10, p. 272.
  • “The Riddle Master himself lost the key to his own riddles one day,” he said in his deep, reed-pure voice, “and he found it again at the bottom of his heart.”
    • Chapter 11, pp. 311-312.
  • He was silent a moment, struggling. He said finally, “But you had a right to be angry.”
    “Yes. But not to hurt those I love, or myself.”
    • Chapter 12, p. 322.

Winter Rose (1996)[edit]

All page numbers from the trade paperback edition published by Ace Books
  • I was running from my own thoughts as much as anything. I simply wanted to untangle myself from the web I had touched. A single, sticky, quivering strand of it was all I needed to warn me away. I did not want to think about people. I wanted the trees, the scents and colors, the shifting shadows of the wood, which spoke a language I understood. I wished I could simply disappear in it, live like a bird or a fox through the winter, and leave the things I had glimpsed to resolve themselves without me.
    • Chapter 5, pp. 42-43.
  • Water has its moods, flowing or still; it can lure you like a lover, or look as bleak as a broken heart.
    • Chapter 7, p. 64.
  • “You fought for your freedom and won a different kind of prison. I will fight for mine—”
    “You can’t fight me,” Tearle reminded him harshly.
    “I know.” In the placid light, his face looked chilled and very weary. “But I can die.”
    • Chapter 15, p. 145.
  • I could not find my way back in dreams, I knew then. They were memory and desire, terror and hope; they told me only what I already knew.
    • Chapter 16, p. 155.
  • “Love is what we say it is,” she said fiercely. “That’s all I know. That’s all anyone knows about it. I’m sorry.”
    • Chapter 16, p. 158.
  • She lies like the moon lies, a different face every night, all but one of them false, and the one true face as barren and hard as stone. Why do you believe her?
    • Chapter 21, p. 211.
  • Do you care for me at all? Or do you only need me?
    • Chapter 21, p. 212.
  • I didn’t know anymore what love meant, or why we were not all better off without it.
    • Chapter 21, p. 217.
  • “But, Corbet, there were things—between us—”
    “You imagined many of them. You wanted them to be true, and so they were. But only to you.”
    • Chapter 23, p. 242.
  • Perhaps there had never been anything at all to see.
    • Chapter 24, p. 250.

External links[edit]

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