Sarah Chorn
Goodreads Author
Born
The United States
Website
Twitter
Genre
Member Since
April 2010
URL
https://www.goodreads.com/bookwormblues
To ask
Sarah Chorn
questions,
please sign up.
Of Honey and Wildfires (The Songs of Sefate #1)
2 editions
—
published
2020
—
|
|
|
Seraphina's Lament (The Bloodlands, #1)
2 editions
—
published
2019
—
|
|
|
The Alchemy of Sorrow
by
4 editions
—
published
2022
—
|
|
|
A Sorrow Named Joy
2 editions
—
published
2022
—
|
|
|
The King Must Fall
by
6 editions
—
published
2022
—
|
|
|
The Necessity of Rain
|
|
|
Invisible 2: Personal Essays on Representation in SF/F
by
2 editions
—
published
2015
—
|
|
|
Oh, That Shotgun Sky (The Songs of Sefate #2)
|
|
|
Glass Rhapsody (Songs of Sefate, #3)
|
|
|
An Elegy for Hope (The Bloodlands #2)
|
|
Sarah’s Recent Updates
Sarah
finished reading
|
|
Sarah
is currently reading
|
|
Sarah
finished reading
Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East
by Amanda H. Podany (Goodreads Author) |
|
Sarah
has read
|
|
Sarah
has read
|
|
Sarah
is currently reading
Weavers, Scribes, and Kings: A New History of the Ancient Near East
by Amanda H. Podany (Goodreads Author) |
|
Sarah
finished reading
|
|
Sarah
finished reading
|
|
Sarah
is currently reading
|
|
Sarah
has read
|
|
“There are good people in this world, silent and stalwart, practicing quiet acts of bravery each and every day.”
― Of Honey and Wildfires
― Of Honey and Wildfires
“He hated his husband as much as he loved him. This tear down the center of his soul held a universe in it.”
― Seraphina's Lament
― Seraphina's Lament
Topics Mentioning This Author
topics | posts | views | last activity | |
---|---|---|---|---|
Fantasy Book Club: September Nominations 2020 | 23 | 32 | Jul 12, 2020 07:24AM | |
Hooked on Books : Spring Read-a-thon March 20 - June 20, 2023 | 35 | 93 | Jun 22, 2023 06:30AM |
“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.”
―
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.”
―
“[T]he unnamed soldier is a gift. The named soldier--dead, melted wax--demands a response among the living...a response no-one can make. Names are no comfort, they're a call to answer the unanswerable. Why did she die, not him? Why do the survivors remain anonymous--as if cursed--while the dead are revered? Why do we cling to what we lose while we ignore what we still hold?
Name none of the fallen, for they stood in our place, and stand there still in each moment of our lives. Let my death hold no glory, and let me die forgotten and unknown. Let it not be said that I was one among the dead to accuse the living.”
― Deadhouse Gates
Name none of the fallen, for they stood in our place, and stand there still in each moment of our lives. Let my death hold no glory, and let me die forgotten and unknown. Let it not be said that I was one among the dead to accuse the living.”
― Deadhouse Gates
“It is a fine line, in all of us, between civilization and savagery. To any who think they would never cross it, I can only say, if you have never known what it is to be utterly betrayed and abandoned, you cannot know how close it is.”
―
―
“Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it- memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.”
―
―