Julian once wrote that coincidences are the scars of fate. There are no coincidences, Daniel. We are puppets of our subconscious desires.

Presents are made for the pleasure of who gives them, not the merits of who receives them.

Disarmed, I realized how easily you can lose all animosity toward someone you've deemed your enemy as soon as that person stops behaving as such.

She was seventeen, her entire life shining on her lips.

There was no more good or evil in this world than we imagine there to be, either out of greed or out of innocence. Or sometimes madness.

It might have been that notion, or just chance, or its more flamboyant relative, destiny.

Where he had failed, I would triumph. Where he had lost his way, I would find the path out of the labyrinth.