What's the point of being a grown-up if you can't indulge the kid inside you every now and then?
Even a stunted tree reaches for sunlight.
Yes my lord, but questions are dangerous, for they have answers
It's funny how despair can soon become an old companion
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.
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.
The tapestry of history is woven of many threads.
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.
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.
Grief heals ... unshed tears fester like a canker in the soul.
Genius requires an audience.
The harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played.
There is no folly like the folly of the wise.
Pain redeems all. It is the awareness of life, a reminder of death.
It is a comfort, in anguish, to be reminded of the scale of one's own troubles against the mighty breadth of the world.
There is as much deception in noise as there is in silence
And Kushiel sends no punishment that we are not fit to bear.
Are you a minor character in my tale, or am I a lesser figure in yours?
It is not everyday that one learns an entire militia has sworn unbeknownest to obey you
I wish sometimes that the gods would either choose better, or make their wishes clearer
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
Wars come and go; politics endure.
This is the secret that none dares tell who fights for a cause. Dying, we are all alike.
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