Tanith Lee
Tanith Lee
Tanith Leewas a British writer of science fiction, horror, and fantasy. She was the author of over 90 novels and 300 short stories, a children's picture book, and many poems. She also wrote two episodes of the BBC science fiction series Blake's 7. She was the first woman to win the British Fantasy Award best novel award, for her book Death's Master...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth19 September 1947
blow mountain sand
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.
hell
Whatever the hell I am, I am Me.
writing scary stories
Writing is writing, and stories are stories. Perhaps the only true genres are fiction and nonfiction. And even there, who can be sure?
despair alive sometimes
I'm not very good at being alive. Sometimes I despair of ever mastering it, getting it right. When I'm old, perhaps.
intelligent apathy disinterest
It was not apathy. It was an intelligent disinterest in those things that could have no bearing on one's existence.
gestures portraits paint
He sat by her, watching every gesture she made, as if he would paint her portrait afterward.
hate trying care
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.
madness born things-to-do
Madness. I did not get myself born to die. I have better things to do.
hate lovely i-hate
It's lovely. I hate it.
time play games
What is any of this to us? Time is endless and ours. Love and Death are only the games we play in it.
running trying trouble
If you run away from trouble, it always follows.' Rather my impression, too. Though that never stopped me trying.
dream horse betray
Go nowhere on a horse that fades, for your dreams will betray you.
butterfly blood towers
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.
kissing love-is flames
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.