We speak of stories ending, when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on.
I can see patterns in events, and behaviors; in mathematics, I follow slower.
A nervous silence loosens tongues.
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.
Spontaneity is the province of youth.
Wars come and go; politics endure.
Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel.
We pay for sins we do not remember, and seek to do a will we can scarce fathom. That is what it is, to be a god’s chosen.
For every victory there is a price.
Some chains are forged for us – those are the hardest to bear.
What is fear but courage’s shadow?
Truly, it is in loss that we learn a thing’s true value.
I had begun to think my ripening body would wither untasted on the vine.
A little truth seasons a lie like salt.
After you, it’s all cheap tequila.
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.
But slight mistakes accumulate, and grow to gross errors if unchecked.
It’s the same questions we ask of our existence, and the answer is always the same. The mystery lies not in the question nor the answer, but in the asking and answering themselves, over and over again, and the end is engendered in the beginning.