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Jonathan Stroud Biography

Jonathan Stroud

Jonathan Anthony Stroud (born 27 October 1970) is a British writer of fantasy fiction, mainly for children and young adults.

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Jonathan Stroud Quotes

In recent weeks it has come to my attention that many caravans have met with disaster; they have not gotten through. " I grunted wisely. "Probably ran out of water. That's the thing about deserts. Dry. " "Indeed. A fascinating analysis. But survivors reaching Hebron report differently: monsters fell upon them in the wastes. " "What, fell upon them in a squashed-them kind of way?" "More the leaped-out-and-slew-them kind. (. . . )

Grunted, Reaching, Report, Waste, Water, Way

As a child I was really into fantasy books with elves and goblins and swords, and I went through a phase for a few years when I was reading endless series. But in the end I became totally fed-up with all these sub-Tolkien rip-offs because they all end up doing the same old things and there's no rigour to it.

Became, Children, Goblins, Reading, Rip

That's a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland

Fire, Hug, Kissing, Small, Woodland

Pardon me, Highness, a women waits whithout. " "Whithout what?

Pardon, Pardon Me, Waiting, Whithout, Women

When I was young, I kept a diary for about 10 years and I had to write in it every day. Even on days when nothing seemed to happen, I made myself think of something to put in it.

Day, Diary, Think, Thinking, Writing, Years

Did Lovelace's forces find you? Did Jabor break in?" He spoke slowly through clenched teeth. "I went to get a newspaper" This is getting better and better! I shook my head regretfully. "You should leave such a dangerous assignment to people better qualified: next time ask an old granny, or a toddler-

Break, Clenched, Get Better, Granny, Next, People

That did it. I'd gone through a lot in the past few days. Everyone I met seemed to want a piece of me: djinn, magicians, humans. . . it made no difference. I'd been summoned, manhandled, shot at, captured, constricted, bossed about and generally taken for granted. And now, to cap it all, this bloke is joining in too, when all I'd been doing was quietly trying to kill him.

Captured, Days, Differences, Past, Seemed, Taken

The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcanoe. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke. Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scare him. And it did, too.

Clouds, Erupting, Eye, Heart, Hung, Yellow

The important thing about any book is that you have to have a good story and that it has to be exciting. Then it's nice to add other levels underneath that people can pick up on.

Book, Nice, People, Pick

We grow up being told about great figures in our society, and as you get older you have to question the stories you've been told and decide if these great figures are indeed as great as you've been told.

Figures, Growing Up, Older, Our Society, Stories, Told

Not bad in short, though the last one [understanding the language of animals], isn't half as useful as you might expect, since when all's said and done the language of the beasts tends to revolve around: a) the endless hunt for food, b) finding a warm bush to sleep in the evening, and c) the sporadic satisfication of certain glands. (Many would argue that the language of human kind boils down to this too)

Animal, Sleep, Tends, Understanding, Useful, Warm

The Amulet of Samarkand. It was Simon Lovelace's. Now it is yours. Soon it will be Simon Lovelace's again. Take it and enjoy the consequences.

Amulets, Consequences, Enjoy, Samarkand, Take

Check out that one at the end. He's taken the form of a footstool. Weird. . . but somehow I like his style. " "That is a footstool.

Checks, Somehow, Style, Taken, Weird

Believe me, I know all about bottle acoustics. I spent much of the sixth century in an old sesame oil jar, corked with wax, bobbing about in the Red Sea. No one heard my hollers. In the end an old fisherman set me free, by which time I was desperate enough to grant him several wishes. I erupted out in the form of a smoking giant, did a few lightning bolts, and bent to ask him his desire. Poor old boy had dropped dead of a heart attack. There should be a moral there, but for the life of me I can't see one.

Believe, Boys, Dropped, Erupted, Heart, Lightning

It's the same with spirit guises; show me a sweet little choirboy or a smiling mother and I'll show you the hideous fanged strigoi it really is. (Not always. Just sometimes. *Your* mother is absolutely fine, for instance. Probably. )

Choirboy, Instance, Littles, Mother, Probably, Sweet

What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?

Back, Conversation, Marvellous, Personality, Sparkling

Can you define "plan" as "a loose sequence of manifestly inadequate observations and conjectures, held together by panic, indecision, and ignorance"? If so, it was a very good plan.

Ignorance, Observations, Panic, Together

That's usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.

Meaningless, Usually, Waffle, Waffles, Young, Young Ones

The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.

Boy, Boys, Coffee, Hot, Piping

Getting that first draft out is a horribly hard grind, but that (perversely) is where the joy of it lies.

Hard, Horribly, Joy, Lying, Writing

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