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Authors:

Lois McMaster Bujold quotes about she

American Writer November 2, 1949

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Quotes

She rolled the mysterious plunkin across in front of the hearth and stared at it. It still looked disconcertingly like a severed head. "What do we do with this?"Dag sat cross-legged and smiled--not much of a smile, but a start. "Lots of choices. They all come down to plunkin. You can eat it raw in slices, peel it and cut it up and cook it alone or in a stew, boil it whole, wrap it in leaves and cook it in campfire coals, stick a sword through it and turn it on a spit, or, very popular, feed... Lois McMaster Bujold
They stared at her curiously, and she caught snatches of conversation in two ot three languages. It wasn't hard to guess their content, and she smiled a bit frimly. Youth, it appeared, was full of illusions as to how much sexual energy two people might have to spare while hiking forty or so kilometers a day, concussed, stunned, diseased, on poor food and little sleep, alternating caring for a wounded man with avoiding becoming dinner for every carnivore within range - and with a coup to plan... Lois McMaster Bujold
Wait." He paused, and she held out a hand to him. His thick fingers engulfed her tapering ones; his skin was warm and dry, and scorched her. "Before we go pick up poor Lieutenant Illyan again..." He took her in his arms, and they kissed, for the first time, for a long time. "Oh," she muttered after. "Perhaps that was a mistake. It hurts so much when you stop." "Well, let me..." his hand stroked her hair, gently, then desperately wrapped itself in a shimmering coil; they kissed again. Lois McMaster Bujold
For Berry, you just be there, Whit. Be the one person in the wide green world she doesn't have to explain it to, because you were there and saw it all for yourself. Hand her a clean cloth if she cries or bleeds, and some warm thing for the pain that doubles her over. The time to hold her will come. This day isn't over yet. Lois McMaster Bujold
I'm not getting it all sorted, she worried. I'm not getting it right. You are brilliant, the Voice reassured her. It is imperfect. So are all things trapped in time. You are brilliant, nonetheless. How fortunate for Us that We thirst for glorious souls rather than faultless ones, or We should be parched indeed, and most lonely in Our perfect righteousness. Carry on imperfectly, shining Ista. Lois McMaster Bujold
Mia Maz glanced aside in concern at his muffled snort. "Are you all right?"Yes. Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just having an attack of limericks."Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip; only her deepening dimple betrayed her. "Shhh," she said, with feeling. Lois McMaster Bujold
His outflung hands traced over the threads of his rug, passed loop by loop through some patient woman's hands. Or maybe she hadn't been patient. Maybe she'd been tired, or irritated, or distracted, or hungry, or angry. Maybe she had been dying. But her hands had kept moving, all the same. Lois McMaster Bujold
Damn it," he mumbled apologetically, "things like this never happened to Vorthalia the Bold."She raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "How do you know? The histories of those times were all written by minstrels and poets. You try and think of a word that rhymes with 'bleeding ulcer Lois McMaster Bujold
It’s important that someone celebrate our existence," she objected amiably. "People are the only mirror we have to see ourselves in. The domain of all meaning. All virtue, all evil, are contained only in people. There is none in the universe at large. Solitary confinement is a punishment in every human culture. Lois McMaster Bujold
Sorry, Bill. I just have this awful vision of being p-peeled like an onion, looking for the seeds."He grinned. "Onions don't have seeds, Cordelia."I stand corrected," she said dryly. Lois McMaster Bujold
One corner of his mouth crooked up, then the quirk vanished in a thoughtful pursing of his lips. "He's bisexual, you know." He took a delicate sip of his wine."Was bisexual," she corrected absently, looking fondly across the room. "Now he's monogamous."Vordarian choked, sputtering. Lois McMaster Bujold

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