And Kushiel sends no punishment that we are not fit to bear.
Night breeds its own sort of anticipation.
I know what you are. I've always known from the beginning, Kushiel's Chosen. It is folly, to make claim on one whom the gods have marked for their own. And unlike the others, I am no fool, to grasp at that which burns to the touch. What you have given..." she raised one hand, palm upward, the garnet seal dangling at her wrist, "... I hold in an open hand.
There is as much deception in noise as there is in silence
I preferred a hard truth to a well-meant lie.
That was the problem ... with trusting to the written word ... We were human, mortal and fallible. We forgot, we made errors, argued ambiguities, and twisted meanings to suit our own ends. And in doing so, mayhap we reshaped the gods themselves.
The harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played.
There are patterns which emerge in one's life, circling and returning anew, an endless variation on a theme. So musicians say the greatest sonatas are composed; whether or not it is true, I do not know, but of a surety I have seen it emerge in the tapestry of my life.
Grief heals ... unshed tears fester like a canker in the soul.
We may not have demon fathers dangling offers of infernal power before us, but everyone understands what it means to struggle with temptation or resist the urge to give in to our baser natures.
Fear and lies fester in darkness. The truth may wound, but it cuts clean.
It's funny, because in deference to conventional wisdom, I spent my struggling writer years trying to suppress my naturally baroque literary voice and write clean, spare prose. I finally gave up and embraced my baroque tendencies when I wrote the Kushiel series.
There are those who hold that there is a pattern to all that is said and done in this world, that no thing happens without reason nor out of time. As to that, I cannot speak, for I have seen too many threads cut short to believe it, but of a surety, I have seen too the weft of my fate shuttled on the loom. If there is a pattern, I do not think there is anyone among us who can stand at a great enough distance to discern it; yet I will not say that it is not so.
The tapestry of history is woven of many threads.
Pain redeems all. It is the awareness of life, a reminder of death.
Are you a minor character in my tale, or am I a lesser figure in yours?
I wish sometimes that the gods would either choose better, or make their wishes clearer
Wars come and go; politics endure.
This is the secret that none dares tell who fights for a cause. Dying, we are all alike.
Surely if we knew what bitterness fate held in store, we would shrink back in fear and let the cup of life pass us by untasted.
If you will not die for us, you cannot ask us to die for you.
It's funny how despair can soon become an old companion
Yes my lord, but questions are dangerous, for they have answers
Only insofar as you enjoy being sorry, my dear, which, while it is a considerable amount, occurs only after the fact, thus making it a singularly ineffective deterrent, yes?
Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland
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