I want to chase the butterflies.

I could not cry for my own brother; he would not want me to. But I found myself crying for this hated stranger and the endless slaughter that I had almost contributed to." (page 8)

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,'Aubrey. I will avenge this scar and every scar you have put into my heart. -Risika(In The Forest Of The Night)

We are not. We never were; we never shall be. We return to the void we never, for mehay is the center of all, and all is the center of nothing.

A story isn't a charcoal sketch, where every stroke lies on the surface to be seen. It's an oil painting, filled with layers that the author must uncover so carefully to show its beauty.

What one person does, several people usually consider.

I'm standing in a slaughterhouse where the cattle are begging to become hamburgers. I have a right to be jumpy.