Robin McKinley
Robin McKinley
Jennifer Carolyn Robin McKinley, known as Robin McKinley, is an American author of fantasy and children's books. Her 1984 novel The Hero and the Crown won the Newbery Medal as the year's best new American children's book...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth16 November 1952
CountryUnited States of America
laughter stones sunlight
Laughter went on and on, like sunlight and stone, even if the human beings who laughed did not.
food anxiety potatoes
I wondered what you'd have on the side with a plate of Deep Fried Anxiety. Pickles? Coleslaw? Potato-strychnine mash?
past night support
There had been certain romantic interludes in the past that had included galloping across the desert at night; but he had never abducted any woman whose enthusiastic support for such a plan had not been secured well in advance.
being-yourself way
it goes something like 'There are a lot of ways to be yourself.
mother memories boys
...and again she wished for Sherwood, and the dappled roof of leaves that never weighed upon her. She pulled her scarf closer around her and thought, I would rather live in a hut in the woods; a hut like the one of my first memories, with a clean-swept dirt floor, and a brown-eyed boy watching me from behind his mother's skirts as I watched him from behind mine.
true-friend dangerous
[Gonturan] is a true friend, but a friend with thoughts of her own, and the thoughts of others are dangerous.
wall compassion names
Oh, why does compassion weaken us?' It doesn't, really...Somewhere where it all balances out-don't the philosophers have a name for it, the perfect place, the place where the answers live?-if we could go there, you could see it doesn't.It only looks, a little bit, like it does, from here, like an ant at the foot of an oak tree. He doesn't have a clue that it's a tree; it's the beginning of the wall round the world, to him.
eye tree littles
She fell asleep, leaning on his chest, and he edged her a little off a particularly painful bruise, leaned his head back against the tree he had propped them up against, and closed his own eyes.
pain memories ease
One keeps searching for ease, she did not say, and not finding it, till the memories of no-pain seem only like daydreams.
hurt cutting blood
She poured the water, arranged some bread near enough the embers to scorch but not catch fire, and looked up at Little John. She was so accustomed to his step, to his bulk, that it took a moment to notice his face; and when she did . . . It was, she thought, rather like the moment it took to realize one had cut one's finger as one stared dumbly at the first drop of blood on the knife-blade. You know it is going to hurt quite a lot in a minute.
names creepy vampire
Vampire. Dangerous. Unknowable. Seriously creepy. This one's name was Constantine. We'd met before.
long faces humans
I long for another human face just as I fear it.
loss thinking sorrow
I found that the only way I could control this sorrow was not to think of [it] at all, which was almost as painful as the loss itself.
children stories differentiation
I don't differentiate in the way that the genre creators want differentiation to be made. I feel that I have never written children's or YA stories particularly.