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.

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.

In a society that worships love, freedom and beauty, dance is sacred. It is a prayer for the future, a remembrance of the past and a joyful exclamation of thanks for the present.

I ask for trust. It is a lot, I know; it isn't easy to give. But it is all I ask.

You speak of giving up my dreams. Have you ever, since Maeve's coven split, had a dream? Have you ever had anything worth dying for?

Aubrey's voice when he answered was soft. "I'm one of the reasons they wouldn't dare.

Your mother all but accused me of something that is, among my kind, the highest crime a man can commit. There is no trial, only punishment, because it is considered better to let an innocent man die than let a guilty one live." (Page 79.)