If you let go of me now,” I whispered, stretching against him, “it could be another six hundred years before you find me again. Are you willing to take that risk?

Verona is a very beautiful city, but Siena just never ceases to fascinate me.

We are all cups, and our destiny is poured according to measures we cannot understand, cannot influence.

Perhaps. But the firstborn of hope is tragedy.

By the time we left college, I had become my own image: a dandelion in the flower bed of society. Kinda cute, but still a weed.

Don't underestimate the power of events that happened a long time ago. That is the tragic flaw of modern man.

...it is fifty percent what they see, and fifty percent what they think they see.