Rl Stine Quotes

Read. Read. Read. Just don't read one type of book. Read different books by various authors so that you develop different style.

Many adults feel that every children's book has to teach them something.... My theory is a children's book... can be just for fun.

Sometimes it helps to scold yourself, to give yourself advice.

The next day, Greg is so large that he cannot even ride the car to school because he can't fit in the car. His parents believe this to have been caused by a food allergy and resolve to take him to the doctor later.

You guys are just jealous because i'm a natural athlete and you can't cross the street without falling on your face." -(Bird) Doug

The book the snowman was the best book I have ever read it had suspence durring the whole book it was AWSOME!!!

He's is a real dummy

I'm so tired of being lonely,she thought. In so tired of never going out, of never being with a boy,off never having a boy care about me.

Zeke and I struggled to get to the dressing room so we could get changed. But we were mobbed by people who wanted to congratulate us and tell us how talented and terrific we were.

Did you know that Halloween started because long ago people believed that one day a year at the end of the fall harvest, the spirits would return to walk the earth? On that day, people wore masks so the spirits wouldn’t recognize them.

This was a normal town once, and we were normal people. Most of us worked at the plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then one day there was an accident... something escaped from the factory, a yellow gas. It floated over the town so fast that we didn't see it, didn't realize... and then it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town anymore.

She realized she'd never felt this happy.even at her old school, she had been an outsider, always the lonely girl,the one who stayed at home watching tv on Saturday nights while her friends went to parties and out on dates.

Good dog,' she said, stoking his head. 'Good sweet dog.' That was one of the great things about dogs. They always loved you no matter what was going on.

breath freezes

There wouldn't be so many stories about vampires and zombies and other weird creatures if they didn't really exist.

Fiction has two uses. Firstly, it’s a gateway drug to reading. The drive to know what happens next, to want to turn the page, the need to keep going, even if it’s hard, because someone’s in trouble and you have to know how it’s all going to end … that’s a very real drive. And it forces you to learn new words, to think new thoughts, to keep going. To discover that reading per se is pleasurable. Once you learn that, you’re on the road to reading everything. And reading is key. There were noises made briefly, a few years ago, about the idea that we were living in a post-literate world, in which the ability to make sense out of written words was somehow redundant, but those days are gone: words are more important than they ever were: we navigate the world with words, and as the world slips onto the web, we need to follow, to communicate and to comprehend what we are reading. People who cannot understand each other cannot exchange ideas, cannot communicate, and translation programs only go so far. The simplest way to make sure that we raise literate children is to teach them to read, and to show them that reading is a pleasurable activity. And that means, at its simplest, finding books that they enjoy, giving them access to those books, and letting them read them. I don’t think there is such a thing as a bad book for children. Every now and again it becomes fashionable among some adults to point at a subset of children’s books, a genre, perhaps, or an author, and to declare them bad books, books that children should be stopped from reading. I’ve seen it happen over and over; Enid Blyton was declared a bad author, so was RL Stine, so were dozens of others. Comics have been decried as fostering illiteracy. It’s tosh. It’s snobbery and it’s foolishness. There are no bad authors for children, that children like and want to read and seek out, because every child is different. They can find the stories they need to, and they bring themselves to stories. A hackneyed, worn-out idea isn’t hackneyed and worn out to them. This is the first time the child has encountered it. Do not discourage children from reading because you feel they are reading the wrong thing. Fiction you do not like is a route to other books you may prefer. And not everyone has the same taste as you. Well-meaning adults can easily destroy a child’s love of reading: stop them reading what they enjoy, or give them worthy-but-dull books that you like, the 21st-century equivalents of Victorian “improving” literature. You’ll wind up with a generation convinced that reading is uncool and worse, unpleasant. We need our children to get onto the reading ladder: anything that they enjoy reading will move them up, rung by rung, into literacy. [from, Why our future depends on libraries, reading and daydreaming]

People say, ‘What advice do you have for people who want to be writers?’ I say, they don’t really need advice, they know they want to be writers, and they’re gonna do it. Those people who know that they really want to do this and are cut out for it, they know it.

The kid moved, and Judith dropped her lunch tray on the table and took her seat. "Would you like to swap lunches?" she asked me. "Yours looks so much better than mine." I was holding a mashed-up tunafish sand-wich. "This?" I asked, waving it. Half the tunafish fell out of the soggy bread. "Yum!" Judith exclaimed. "Want my pizza, Sam? Here. Take it." She slid her tray in front of me. "You bring great lunches. I wish my mum packed lunches like yours." I could see Cory staring at me , his eyes wide with disbelief. I really couldn't believe it, either. All Judith wanted from the world was to be exactly like me!

But there is always one last chance—right?

That’s one of my problems. I never get angry quick enough. I never speak up when I am really mad. And then I feel silly bringing it up later.

We need our children to get onto the reading ladder: anything that they enjoy reading will move them up, rung by rung, into literacy. (Also, do not do what this author did when his 11-year-old daughter was into RL Stine, which is to go and get a copy of Stephen King's Carrie, saying if you liked those you'll love this! Holly read nothing but safe stories of settlers on prairies for the rest of her teenage years, and still glares at me when Stephen King's name is mentioned.)

But I wasn't feeling like a winner. I felt like an ugly freak.

Dominatio per malum. Power through evil.

sari is the most competitive person i know. she has to be the first and best at everything. if everyone is catching the flu, she has to be the first one to catch it!

I can see ghosts.

Cameras can only record what they see.

Getting invisible is fun, but it could be dangerous.

chicken salad.

Tap-tap-tap is better than thump-thumpthump," Ivy said.

You won't be going home tonight - or ever," Trevor whispered. "You've seen too much.

Would you love me if you knew I suck down liver blood in the supermarket?

they should invent a car that stays cool inside when it is parked

All those decaying zombies eating people and tearing out their guts.” She laughed. “Cool!

He didn’t like being the sensible one of the group. Everyone always made fun of the sensible one. He’d rather be the wild and crazy one. But, somehow, he always ended up sensible.

I always fixed beef for your father. But he only wanted pie.

I could hear my dad honking his horn impatiently down on the street. "I... uh... used to live in your house," I found myself answering. And then I turned and ran full speed down to the street.

Dad, are we lost?” Luke repeated the question. “Yeah, we’re lost,” Dad replied quietly. “Hopelessly lost.” Clay let out a soft cry and slumped in the seat. He looked a little like a balloon deflating. “Don’t tell him that!” Mom cried sharply. “What should I tell him?” Dad snapped back. “We’re nowhere near Zoo Gardens. We’re nowhere near civilization! We’re in the desert, going nowhere!

People don’t always take us seriously,” she continued. “People come to HorrorLand and think it’s all a big joke. People laugh at the signs around the park. They laugh at the rides and attractions.

I gabbed Ivy's arm. "Look. Ivy. Something just moved - by that tombstone." We both stared into the gray light. "Oh, noooo," I moaned. I watched, trembling in horror as someone climbed out of a grave.

My name is Abe Marcus. Ned and I are identical twins. We look exactly alike. Even Ma and Pa can’t tell us apart. But we don’t act alike. I am the serious twin. Maybe it’s because I am two minutes older.

Greg was very interested in cameras. He had an inexpensive automatic camera, which took okay snapshots. But he was saving his allowance in hopes of buying a really good camera with a lot of lenses. He loved looking at camera magazines, studying the different models, picking out the ones he wanted to buy.

You coming or not?" he repeated impatiently. I was going to say no. But then, glancing at the curtains, I thought, it's probably no more spooky out there in that cemetery than it is here in my own bedroom!

I became more and more confused. My brain got so fuzzy, I even began to wonder if I'd ever actually been a boy at all. Maybe I'd really been a bee for my entire life, and I'd just dreamed about being a boy.

WELCOME. YOU ARE MOST WANTED. Come in. I'm R.L. Stine. Welcome to the Goosebumps office. Glad you made it through the barbed wire fence. Don't worry. Those cuts will stop bleeding in an hour or two. Why do we have a barbed wire fence? To keep the Abominable Snowman from escaping. I'm surprised you didn't see him. He's creeping up right behind you. Hurry. Step inside and shut the door. You don't want to find out why everyone calls him Abominable. Hey, don't be scared of Eddie over there. Eddie woke up dead tired one morning. Guess what? He actually was dead. Yes, Eddie is a zombie. But he doesn't like that word. He likes to be called "life-challenged." He's not much trouble. He only needs to eat human flesh once a day. Don't be nervous. He just finished his breakfast. Whom did he have for breakfast? I'm not sure. But I haven't seen my brother all morning... Eddie - what did I tell you about eating the family? Oh, well. Let me ask you a question before Eddie has to have his next meal. What do you think is the Most Wanted holiday?

She wasn’t wearing a mask! The monstrous green face was her face. She wasn’t wearing a monster costume. None of the Horrors were wearing costumes, I realized. I stepped back, raising my hands in horror as if trying to shield myself.

They had me on my back. And then they all swarmed at once. Bony hands pawed at me. The grunts and groans rang in my ears. I screamed as their sharp fingers punctured my chest - and ripped it open. I kept screaming as they lowered their ugly heads and began to feed.

So Miss Curdy said I had to be punished. She gave me a choice of punishments. One: I could come into the gym after school every day and inflate all the basketballs — by mouth — until my head exploded. Or two: I could coach the first-grade soccer team. I chose number two. The wrong choice.

Sneeze on Monday, sneeze for danger. Sneeze on Tuesday, kiss a stranger. Sneeze on Wednesday, sneeze for a letter. Sneeze on Thursday, something better. Sneeze on Friday, sneeze for woe. Sneeze on Saturday, a journey to go. Sneeze on Sunday, your safety seek. For the devil will have you the rest of the week.

Never fear, KidsCare is here,

Was it it possible that I thought a pile of clothes was a smiling girl?’ - Amanda Benson

Running now. Running blindly, my heart thudding. Running home. Covered in thick, black fur. Running in panic, in shame. In fear.

I mean, who could think about sneakers when an invisible building was waiting to be discovered?

there is nothing I love better than slamming the ball in my older sister’s face and making her chase after it.

I’d like to dive into an enormous pool of iced tea,” Kris said, “like in the TV commercials. It always looks so cold and refreshing.

Yes, we outran them easily,” Destiny replied. “It…it’s because we’re not human anymore. We outran them because we’re creatures now.

Grandpa Mo choked out. "They...they...they are hungry. Very hungry.

Enjoy.

to see the drooling, pink mouth open

Faster, Jerry!” Dr. Shreek instructed, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Faster! The hands are alive! Alive!” “I can’t do it!” I cried. “Please!” “Faster! Faster!

I’ve been home the whole time. Watching you. What do we do with a troublemaker?

Squatting over it, I pulled it open. My clothes were neatly folded at the top. Robb hadn’t stolen anything.

What was the truth about the camera? he wondered. Does the camera show the future? Or does it actually cause bad things to happen?

We used to live in your house," George said. "And now, guess what?" Jerry added. "Now we're dead in your house!

I have a couple of suggestions to help things along,” she said. She twisted the slender gold watch on her wrist. “First of all, go back to school on Monday.

Aren’t your feet supposed to be the same size as each other?

I talk to myself a lot, but it seldom does any good. I’m a tense kid. I know it. But I have good reason to be tense.

I enjoyed

And that’s when I heard it. That’s when I heard the ghost’s harsh whisper. It seemed to be coming from the open closet. “Welcome …” I heard. “Welcome. Welcome to your DOOM.

Yes! Yes! Yes!” Marty kept leaping into the air. I thought I might have to tie a rope around his waist and hold onto it to keep him from floating away!

I am sorry to say there will be no wedding today.

There’s no harm in taking a peek.

The substance inside the can was bright green. It shimmered like Jell-O in the light from the ceiling fixture.

What a strange place to leave a camera. Why would someone put it here? If it were valuable enough to hide in a secret cabinet, why didn’t he take it with him?

It isn’t a toy, you know. You don’t know anything about it. You don’t know what it really does to your body.

Here I was, locked inside this creepy old library with a monster, and I was worried about getting scolded for being late for dinner!

I know it’s ridiculous to drink skim milk when you’re pigging out on a chocolate bar, but I figured, why not cut calories where you can?

Many adults feel that every children's book has to teach them something.

Watch. I’m going to make you read the next sentence. THE NEXT SENTENCE.

My friend Chuck was supposed to help me coach the team. But he told Miss Curdy he had an after-school job. Do you know what his after-school job is? Going home and watching TV. - Steve Boswell

My dream is that Cole gets punished for mouthing off the way he usually does. And his punishment is that he has to feed the chickens for the rest of his life. Everyone has to have a dream — right?

His camera at home was just too crummy. That’s why all his pictures came out too dark or too light, and everyone in them had glowing red dots in their eyes. Greg wondered if this camera was any good.

Despite the loud booing from Shari and Greg, Bird managed to punch the ball past the shortstop for a single. “Lucky hit!” Greg yelled, cupping his hands into a megaphone. Bird pretended not to hear him.

Above me on the landing stood a strange girl, about my age, with short black hair. She was smiling down at me, not a warm smile, not a friendly smile, but the coldest, most frightening smile I had ever seen.

Menulis berarti menciptakan duniamu sendiri.” Stephen King “Menulis itu pekerjaan orang kesepian. Punya seseorang yang memercayaimu dapat membuat perbedaan besar. Hanya percaya saja biasanya sudah cukup.” Stephen King “Menulis fiksi seperti memasak.” Donatus A. Nugroho "Menulis itu gampang." Arswendo Atmowiloto “Tulislah apa yang kau ketahui seluas dan sedalam mungkin.” Stephen King “Sedapat mungkin aku tidak melakukan keduanya, yaitu membuat alur cerita dan berbohong. Cerita itu terjadi dengan sendirinya, tugas penulis adalah membiarkan cerita itu berkembang.” Stephen King “Engkau harus berkata jujur, jika ingin dialogmu punya gema dan realistis.” Stephen King “Semua novel pada dasarnya adalah surat-surat yang ditujukan kepada seseorang.” Anonim/Stephen King “Aku menulis setiap hari, termasuk hari libur. Aku termasuk pecandu kerja.” Stephen King “Membaca adalah pusat kreatif kehidupan seorang penulis. Aku membawa buku ke mana pun aku pergi dan menemukan peluang untuk menenggelamkan diri dalam bacaan.” Stephen King “Kalau engkau ingin menjadi penulis, ada dua hal yang harus kau lakukan, banyak membaca dan menulis. Setahuku, tidak ada jalan lain selain dua hal ini. Dan tidak ada jalan pintas.” Stephen King "Menulis fiksi seperti permainan Roller Coaster." RL Stine “Aku akan menulis (terus) sekalipun belum tahu akan diterbitkan atau tidak.” JK Rowling “Aku ingin menulis, bukan harus menulis.” Anonim “Seseorang yang menuliskan suatu kisah, terlalu tertarik pada kisah itu sendiri sehingga tidak bisa duduk tenang dan memerhatikan (cara teknik) bagaimana ia menuliskannya.” CS Lewis “Aku menulis untuk diri sendiri, aku rasa tak seorang pun akan menikmati buku ini lebih dari yang kurasakan saat membacanya.” JK Rowling “Menulis novel harus berbekal sesuatu yang Anda yakini agar Anda tetap bertahan.” JK Rowling “Selalu ada ruang untuk sebuah cerita yang dapat memindahkan pembaca ke tempat lain.” JK Rowling “Aku takut kalau tak dapat menemukan alasan untuk melanjutkan menulis.” JK Rowling “Bila aku tidak menulis, aku merasa hidupku tidak normal.” JK Rowling “Beberapa hal memang lebih baik tinggal menjadi imajinasi belaka.” JK Rowling “Harry tak pernah menyerah terus berjuang menggunakan kombinasi antara intuisi, ketegangan syaraf dan sedikit keberuntungan.” JK Rowling “Kamu mungkin tidak akan bisa membuat karyamu diterbitkan di penerbit manapun.” Marion D. Bauer “Kebanyakan para penulis, bahkan karya penulis dewasa, tidak akan diterbitkan. Selamanya. Namun, mereka tetap saja menulis karena ini menyenangkan.” Marion D. Bauer “Bagi semua penulis, profesional maupun amatir imbalan yang terbesar terletak dalam proses penulisan, bukan dalam sesuatu yang terjadi sesudahnya. Mengumpulkan ide dan melihatnya menjadi hidup dalam kertas sudah cukup menggembirakan.” Marion D. Bauer “Kabar buruk: Sangat sulit untuk membuat bukumu diterbitkan. Jika tulisanmu berhasil diterbitkan, kamu mungkin tidak akan menjadi terkenal, kamu tidak akan menjadi kaya. Seorang penulis harus belajar sendiri dan bekerja sendiri. Kabar baik: Membuat tulisanmu diterbitkan akan menjadi lebih mudah setelah kamu berhasil menapakkan kaki di pintu penerbitan. Kamu bahkan mungkin bisa menjadi terkenal, atau mungkin saja kamu lebih memilih kehidupan yang sederhana. Beberapa penulis menjadi kaya. Bekerja sendirian mungkin bukan masalah bagimu. Kamu bisa menjadi penguasa bagi kehidupan kerjamu sendiri. Yang terpenting dari segalanya kamu bisa melakukan pekerjaan yang kamu cintai.” Marion D. Bauer “Aku akan terus menulis meski tulisanku tidak menghasilkan uang sesen pun, bahkan jika tidak ada orang yang mau membacanya. Aku merasa sangat beruntung bisa merintis karir di bidang penulisan.” Marion D. Bauer "Menulis dapat membuat orang bisa menjadi lebih baik karena dia melihat pantulan dirinya." Asma Nadia

Stupid Ginny and her karate kicks. Why did Mom have to take her to that martial-arts school anyway? My life has been miserable ever since. She’s only ten, but she fights way better than I do. I’ve got the bruises to show it.

liked to tell me ghost stories that happened here. He said ghosts walked the halls at night, clanking their chains.” Robby shook his head. “Why do ghosts always have to clank chains?” he said. “If they are ghosts, couldn’t they just slip out of their chains?

Greg had been nearly out the door, on his way next door to Shari’s birthday party, when the phone rang. “Hi, Greg. Why aren’t you on your way to my party?” Shari had asked when he’d run to pick up the receiver. “Because I’m on the phone with you,” Greg had replied dryly.

So, when Cole was two and I was four, we moved to Goshen Falls. Lucky us! The whole town is three blocks long. We have a cute little farm with a cute little farmhouse. And even though Mom and Dad are computer programmers — not farmers — we have a backyard full of chickens.

These five teens are convinced it was not a prank. They all believe this is the beginning of the zombie apocalypse we hear so much about. But I'm not so sure I believe their story - not this close to Halloween." The girl with the ponytail frowned at him. "I know what I saw," she said. "They are here!

And what’s the address on Fear Street, Operator?” “We’re not supposed to give that out, sir.” “Come on. I promise I won’t tell anybody.” Cory laughed. Surprisingly, the operator laughed too. “I guess it’s okay. It’s my last night, anyway. It’s Four Forty-four Fear Street.” “Thanks a lot, Operator. You’re a nice person:

would be funny if Mr. Piccolo resembled a piccolo, but he doesn’t. Actually, he’s quite round. More like a bass fiddle. He has a big pouch of a belly that stretches the oversized turtleneck sweaters he always wears. He has a round face, too. He’s mostly bald and his scalp shines like a bowling ball. He wears square eyeglasses, which are always sliding down

Vanessa,” he murmured. I stared at him. I knew instantly what he meant. I had been thinking the same thing all along. Remembering the horrible moment we spilled Vanessa’s groceries. “Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to believe it. But Vanessa did this to us. Vanessa is BLUUUUCK BLUCCCK turning us into chickens.” “Chicken chicken,” he clucked.

Halloween?” Sabrina Mason asked. She moved her fork around in the bright yellow macaroni on her lunch tray but didn’t take a bite. Carly Beth Caldwell sighed and shook her head. The overhead light on the lunchroom ceiling made her straight brown hair gleam. “I don’t know. A witch, maybe.” Sabrina’s mouth dropped open. “You? A witch?” “Well, why not?” Carly Beth demanded,

Well . . . maybe I can sneak out for a few minutes,” Bird said, lowering his voice. And then Greg heard him shout to his mother: “It’s no one, Ma! I’m talking to no one!” Boy, that’s quick thinking! Greg thought sarcastically. He’s a worse liar than I am. And then he heard Bird call to his mom: “I know I’m on the phone. But I’m not talking to anyone. It’s only Greg.” Thanks a lot, pal, Greg thought.

He squinted at us. "You really believe there might be zombies in Franklin Village?" "Maybe," I said. "We just thought we'd patrol at night and search for them." "But that could be dangerous," Trevor said. He leaned toward us. His eyes darted from Alec to me. "That could be very dangerous." A chill rolled down my back. He had suddenly changed. His voice deepened. And his words sounded like a warning. Or a threat.

Greg watched in horror as the ball bounced off Bird and dribbled away onto the infield grass. Bird’s eyes went wide with disbelief, confusion. He stood frozen in place on the base path for a long moment. Then both of his hands shot up above his head, and he uttered a shrill cry, long and loud, like the high-pitched whinny of a horse. His eyes rolled up in his head. He sank to his knees and uttered another cry, softer this time. Then he collapsed, sprawling onto his back, his neck at an unnatural angle, his eyes closed. He didn’t move.

Bird didn’t move. Shari and Greg, running side by side at full speed, reached him together. “Bird?” Shari knelt down beside him. “Bird?” Bird opened one eye. “Gotcha,” he said quietly. The weird half-smile formed on his face, and he exploded in high-pitched laughter. It took Shari and Greg a while to react. They both stood open-mouthed, gaping at their laughing friend. Then, his heart beginning to slow to normal, Greg reached down, grabbed Bird with both hands, and pulled him roughly to his feet. “I’ll hold him while you hit him,” Greg offered, holding Bird from behind.

Maybe we should bring these sandwiches with us in case we get lost for days.” I scooted my chair back. “Come on. Let’s go. I really am excited to see this house. When I was little, Uncle Victor liked to tell me ghost stories that happened here. He said ghosts walked the halls at night, clanking their chains.” Robby shook his head. “Why do ghosts always have to clank chains?” he said. “If they are ghosts, couldn’t they just slip out of their chains?” “Maybe we can find some ghosts, and we’ll ask them,” I replied. Robby and I headed down the back hall that led away from the kitchen. I liked him. He was easy to talk to, and he had a nice laugh. I think he liked me, too.

No field trip. No pancakes. And a boring lecture. As we took our seats in the auditorium, I wanted to complain to Buzzy about how unfair it was. But he was talking to Summer Magee, who sat on his other side. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Summer is one of the hottest girls in school. I’ve had a mad crush on her since third grade, when we built a volcano together for the science fair. Summer saved my life when the volcano exploded and a wave of burning hot lava gushed onto the front of my T-shirt. She grabbed the shirt in both hands—and ripped it off my body before I was too badly burned. The class went wild. I’ve had a thing for her ever since. But let’s face facts. In the past three years, Summer hasn’t paid much attention to me at all. I think maybe she was disappointed that our volcano was such a loser. Or maybe she doesn’t even remember the whole thing. Summer has wavy blond hair, dimples in both cheeks, sky-blue eyes,

I stood in a bare room of dark wood floors and olive-green walls. No furniture. It was daytime. A slender beam of sunlight washed in through a single dust-smeared window. And a boy stood stiffly in front of the window, his face hidden in shadow. I was standing close enough to reach out and touch him. He took a step out of the shadow, and I could see his empty eye sockets. His eyes were missing. Under the deep holes in his face, his mouth twisted in a menacing scowl. I turned away. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Wave after wave of panic rolled down my body. I shut my eyes and wished myself out of there. I knew I was dreaming. I struggled to raise myself, to pull myself up from the ugly dream, away from the boy with no eyes. But no. When I turned back, I was still in that narrow room, still standing across from the scowling boy. Trapped in the dream. Unable to escape it. And then the boy stuck his arms straight out, as if reaching for me. He staggered toward me. Closer … closer … I