Peter S. Beagle
Peter S. Beagle
Peter Soyer Beagleis an American novelist and screenwriter, especially fantasy fiction. His best-known work is The Last Unicorn, a fantasy novel he wrote in his twenties, which Locus subscribers voted the number five "All-Time Best Fantasy Novel" in 1987. During the last twenty-five years he has won several literary awards including a World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 2011...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth20 April 1939
CountryUnited States of America
...no place is more enchanted than where a unicorn has been born.
There's a phrase, "sitzfleisch", which means just plain sitting on your ass and getting it done. Just showing up for work. My uncle Raphael was a painter, and he used to say, "If the muse is late for work, start without her". You have to be there. You have to be there, and do it, and grind it out, even when it is grinding and you know you're probably going to rewrite all this tomorrow.
He had never missed God or the hope of heaven, but he had dearly wanted confession to rest his mind, Communion to let him touch something beyond Father Krone's dry, shaky hand, and holy water to taste like starlight.
Ravens bring things to people. We're like that. It's our nature. We don't like it.
There are honest people in the world, but only because the devil considers their asking prices ridiculous.
Love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal.
Beyond the town, darker than dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts...
Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.
No," he repeated, and this time the word tolled in another voice, a king's voice... whose grief was not for what he did not have, but for what he could not give.
The woman I loved died because I did not love her enough - what greater sin is there than that?" (Uncle Chaim and Aunt Fifke and the Angel)
- and you are truly human now. You can love, and fear, and forbid things to be what they are, and overact.
He thought, or said, or sang, I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full.
Sitting up all night would be pointless if somebody you loved wasn't sitting up with you, picking out music to play and helping you kill the bourbon. Walking by yourself in the rain is for college kids who think loneliness makes poets.
Envy nobody. It is the true secret of happiness, or at least the only one I know. (By Moonlight)