Megan Shepherd
English-language fiction has been produced across a wide range of American regions and traditions, with writers from diverse backgrounds contributing to that body of work. Megan Shepherd, born on May 13, 1982, in Asheville, is among the writers working within that tradition.
Shepherd works in English and pursues a career as a writer. Her birth in Asheville forms part of her biographical record, and her use of the English language situates her within American prose writing more broadly. The available facts confirm her occupation as a writer, and her work is conducted in English.
The documentation surrounding Shepherd establishes her as a writer born in 1982 in Asheville. The available record attests to her occupation and her language of composition, and these details constitute the confirmed professional facts that characterize her career.
Quotes by Megan Shepherd
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She’d loved Mada Vittora once. A twisted, misunderstood love, but even the cruelest forms of love were never lost without heartache.
Hate the part of him that gave in to madness. But don’t hate your father, not all of him. There was a time when he loved you very much, and that’s what you should remember.
She stayed up late most nights, dressed in a housecoat in the library until all hours, wearing reading glasses not unlike the professor’s wire spectacles, drinking licorice tea laced with gin – she didn’t know that I knew – and staring out the window at the city lights.
The dark thing inside her wasn’t timid and plain, wasn’t the type to skitter around the edges of a room, fearful of every footsetep.
Don’t say it,” I said, almost a plea. “I love Montgomery.” But deep inside, my God, I wanted him to say it. To kiss me feverishly and end this terrible pull between us.
All men like him ever see are aprons. I could be Mada Vittora risen from the dead, but if I had a mop in my hand he’s still just ask for tea.
Breahe, my dearie. You look on the verge of shattering. You are each so strong in your own way. Beau has a steady strength, like a tree. Cricket is a bright strength, like lighting. But your strength, ah, yours is quiet. There’s a reason magic is called whisper, not shouts.
It isn’t about the sharpness of the blade, but the hand that holds it.′ Science doesn’t do good or ill by itself- it’s the intention behind it.
He asked for a knife,” she said. “What do you think that means? It’s not for eclairs, I can promise you that.