A tale can start in many ways. Thus, it is many tales, and at the same time each of these is but one way of telling the same story.
We must touch the earth, we must look into the sky and feel the wind. Like pools in the same stream, we must meet and part and meet again. We belong to the flow of the lake and to the deep beating heart of the forest.
It is almost winter,” said Conor quietly. “Out of winter’s darkness comes spring’s light. Out of winter’s sleep is born spring’s new life. We cannot be without hope, not when this truth is shown us year by year.
To lose you is to spill my heart’s blood. I do not know if I can bear the pain.
The light of these candles is but the reflection of a greater light. It shines from the islands beyond the western sea. It glistens in the dew and on the lake, in the stars of the night sky, in every reflection of the spirit world. And should any of us lose the light, there will be brother or sister to guide him.
A loyal servant is a fine thing. We forget, sometimes, how much they do for us.
Team, aren’t we? That means we trust each other, no matter what. Watch each other’s back. Keep an eye out for trouble.
You must hold on to hope, or this cannot happen. Let hope go, and your battle is lost.
You should be brave. Running away isn’t brave. The brave thing, the hard thing is to tell the truth. To face up to whatever it is.
The flame of spirit we all had within us, the light that never truly went out, even in our times of deepest despair.
Practice your skills; sharpen your tools; do the best job you can.
When you felt sad or angry or hopeless, a story could help. A story could lead you into a different world for a while.
Everyone has responsibility for his own actions. But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.
I’ll go on any path you want. Might give you a push sometimes, keep you walking straight. But whatever happens, I’ll be right there beside you. Rain or shine. Shadows or light. Step for step. Always.
Step by small step; that was the only way I’d survive my time of penance. My lesson in patience. Or whatever it was.
It is surely better to have had such a love and lost it than never to have known the joy of it at all.
The dark things that never go away, the sunny, precious things that go all too soon.
A clever woman could solve puzzles. A fearless woman might ask difficult questions, seek answers in places others would shun. A woman who understood magic might see what an ordinary person was blind to.
Too much power made people arrogant and unfeeling. It turned them cruel. It blinded them to right and wrong.
It is no wonder women have a reputation for patience which is not shared by men. We spend so much of our time waiting. Waiting for a child to be born. Waiting for a man to come home, from the fields, from the sea, from battle. Waiting endlessly for news. That can be the worst, as fear bites deep at the vitals, and seizes the heart with chill fingers. The mind can make strange and horrible pictures, while you are waiting.
One does not meddle lightly with the forces of the forest.