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People Are Always The Start For Meanimals. When I Can Get Into Their Heads, Gods, Supernatural Beings,immortals, The Deadthese Are All People To Me.

-Tanith Lee

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People Are Always The

Tanith Lee

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People Are Always The Start For Meanimals. When I Can Get Into Their Heads, Gods, Supernatural Beings,immortals, The Deadthese Are All People To Me.

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Topic

Supernatural Beings

More From Tanith Lee

The So-called Real World. Human Misery And Sadness. Blind Politics And General Cruelty.

If You Run Away From Trouble, It Always Follows.

People Are Always The Start For Meanimals. When I Can Get Into Their Heads, Gods, Supernatural Beings,immortals, The Deadthese Are All People To Me.

Supernatural Beings

Genre Categories Are Irrelevant. I Dislike Them, But I Do Not Have The Casting Vote.

I Think Of Myself As A Storyteller, And That Is It.

I've Been Criticised For Writing In Too Complex A Manner For Younger People.

When I Am Fascinated By Something, I Like To Play With It.

Im A Devotee Of Dracula, Which Was A Pathfinder In Horror And Vampire Fiction.

Tales Of Heroes End In Bliss.

You Should Visit Before You Pass Judgment On A Place.

We Need The Expressive Arts, The Ancient Scribes, The Storytellers, The Priests.

At An Early School, When I Was About 5, They Asked What We Wanted To Be When We Grew Up. Everyone Said Silly Things, And I Said I Wanted To Be An Actress. So That Was What I Wanted To Be, But What I Was, Of Course, Was A Writer.

As A Child, My Mother Told Me Lots Of Fairy Stories, Many Her Own Invention. She, Too, Tended To Reverse The Norm.

It Was Not Apathy. It Was An Intelligent Disinterest In Those Things That Could Have No Bearing On One's Existence.

If I Ever Get To 100, I'd Want To Be Filled With Wonder And Wild, Adolescent, Wide-eyed Interest In Newness. So Let's Keep The Flame Burning. Let's Stop Thinking Everyone Over 29, Or 49, Has To Be Reinforced By Concrete.

When I Started As A Writer, I Knew Nothing About Publishing-nothing About Anything!

He Sat By Her, Watching Every Gesture She Made, As If He Would Paint Her Portrait Afterward.

Are Not All Loves Secretly The Same? A Hundred Flowers Sprung From A Single Root.

If They Had Said My Writing Wasn't Good Enough, Fair Enough, That's An Opinion. But To Say It's Too Complex Is To Insult The Intelligence Of The So-called Young.

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Get The Blame For Being What It Is-- The Colour Of A Kiss, The Shadow Of A Flame. A Rose May Earn Another Name, So Call It Love; So Call It Love I Will, And Love Is Like The Sea, Which Changes Constantly, And Yet Is Still The Same.

The Soul Is A Magician. Only Living Flesh Hampers It.

We All Have Our Dreams. May We Find Them, And God Have Mercy On Us When We Do.

I Hate The Way, Once You Start To Know Someone, Care About Them, Their Behavior Can Distress You, Even When It's Unreasonable And Not Your Fault, Even If You Were Really Trying To Be Careful, Tactful.

No One Is Ever Ordinary.

The Worst Vulgarity Is To Avoid Vulgarity Solely On The Grounds That It Is Vulgar.

Dawn Rose From The Desert And Turned The River To Wine.

Your Dreams Will Betray You. Go Nowhere On A Horse That Fades.

Men Are Not The Causers Of History. History Itself, By A Pressure Of Events, Causes Men To Resort To Particular Actions.

Archetypes Are Universal, And, In Subtle Or Extravagant Ways, Interchangeable.

I Must Suppose That Reading Wonderful Writers May, Inadvertently, Teach An Avid Reader A Great Deal -- Not Only About Life And Other Matters, But About How To Write. Therefore Doubtless I Have Benefited From Frequent Immersions In The Glowing Genius Of Others. It Would Be Nice To Think So. (i Do Actually Think So). But To Improve My Skills Will Never Be The Prompting Force Of My Reading -- That's Just Literary Lust.

Whatever The Hell I Am, I Am Me.

Flat Or Round, There Has Always Been Hate In The World.

I Like Films, Or Some Films, And Would Be Intrigued To See My Work On Screen.

Oh, Love. Love Is Best Of All. There Is No Such Total Element, Not Even Pain. Who Has Ever Loved, Knows This. I Need Not Say More.

I Never Know Where I Am Going, Though. That Is Part Of What Makes It So Wonderful. And After All, Who Does?

The Humble Were The Elect Of God. Did Not The Priests Teach So, In Their Gemmed, Kingly Robes, From Their Towering Pulpits?

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.

Hope Is A Punishable Offense. The Verdict Is Always Death; One More Death Of The Heart.

Condemned And Executioner With Aren't Coupled In A Primitive Rite.

I Simply Write What I Want, Wish, Long To Write.... The State Of Human Life And The God Or Demon Within. The Constant Internal War That Being Alive Can Conjure.

I Also Love Disney, And Will Defend Doing So, Because There's So Much In Those Films And I Don't Care If It's Stereotyped.

If You Run Away From Trouble, It Always Follows.' Rather My Impression, Too. Though That Never Stopped Me Trying.

I'm Not Very Good At Being Alive. Sometimes I Despair Of Ever Mastering It, Getting It Right. When I'm Old, Perhaps.

Some Writers, Of Course, Simply Write, As They Feel They Are Driven To Do, By Outer/inner Inspirations. If, After The Work Is Written And, Hopefully, Published, Others Respond -- That Is The Champagne. But We, Or Some Of Us, Don't Write For The Champagne. We Write Because We Write.

No One More Cynical Than An Idealist.

Ecstasy And Vulnerability Belonged In The Same Dish. The Fear The Cup Would Be Snatched Away Was What Gave The Wine Its Savor.

I Like Writing About Women, Weak And Strong, Pathetic And Heroic. I Like Writing About Men, Ditto. And All The Variants Of Men And Women, Beasts And Demons.

Writers Tell Stories Better, Because They've Had More Practice, But Everyone Has A Book In Them. Yes, That Old Cliche.

She Looked, And A Scarlet Butterfly Flew Away From Her, Away Down The Length Of The Tower, And Then Another, Another, An Unraveling Scarf Of Butterflies Like Winged Blood.

It's Lovely. I Hate It.

Danger And Anger Are Everywhere. Love Is The Rarity, The Gem Buried In The Core Of The Mine, The Outpost Of God.

What Is Any Of This To Us? Time Is Endless And Ours. Love And Death Are Only The Games We Play In It.

I Submitted Manuscripts To Publishers. This Was Not So Much A Feeling That I Should Be Published As A Wish To Escape The Feared And Hated Drudgery Of Normal Work.

How Massively The Mountains Stand, While Low To The Ground The Sand Blows. The Sand Blows On And On. And Then There Are No Mountains, None At All, The Sand Has Kissed And Whispered Them Away. And Still, The Sand Blows On.

Maidens Who Stay Maidens Turn Into Saints. Old Women Become Sorceresses. Tough Jobs, Both Of These.

I Tend Not To Analyse My Work, Though I'm Frequently Intrigued When Other People Take Time To Do So.

Madness. I Did Not Get Myself Born To Die. I Have Better Things To Do.

Pirates Have Always Fascinated Me.

I Held Out My Book. It Was Precious To Me, As Were All The Things I'd Written; Even Where I Despised Their Inadequacy There Was Not One I Would Disown. Each Tore Its Way From My Entrails. Each Had Shortened My Life, Killed Me With Its Own Special Little Death.

It's Very Selfish When I Write. I'm Not Aware, Ever, Of Writing For Another Person; I'm Not Even Really Aware Of Writing For Myself.

Im Writing What Comes Into My Head, Or Through Me, Or From Somewhere Else, And It Is The Most Extraordinary, Exciting Thing. I Love It, And Im Very Greedy, And I Really Enjoy It!

There Was No Violence, No Speed. It Moved To The Rhythm Of An Elder Dance, Putting All The Rituals Of The World To Shame. Black, Silver, Gold And Moon-opal, Night And Sea, Fire, Earth, Air And Water.

The Dictate Of The Light Says: Know Yourself And What You Are. The Dark Replies, By All Means, But Then Become Afraid.

The Other Writer Who Had A Very Important Early Influence On Me When I Was About 17 Was C.s. Lewis.

In The Greater Part Of Humankind There Resides An Instinct For Survival. It Is This Which Can Clutch At Straws And Effect A Rescue From Them. It Is This Which Can, Now And Then, Outwit Fate.

I Will Draw You Back To Me. You Shall See. By A Chain Of Stars.

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