Shadow turned. Her eyes were wet; she smiled at him wanley. "I'll be she loved you.

All my life I have dreamed of you.

None of us have much idea where we are. Perhaps all our lives are too concerned with where, and not enough with who.

All my years to this moment All my roads to this wall. All my words to this silence All my pride to this fall. -Songs of Sapphique

Nothing has changed, or will change. So we must change it.

We are chained hand and foot by protocol, enslaved to a static, empty world where men and women can’t read, where the scientific advances of the ages are the preserve of the rich, where artists and poets are doomed to endless repetitions and sterile reworking of past masterpieces. Nothing is new. New does not exist. Nothing changes, nothing grows, evolves, develops. Time has stopped. Progress is forbidden

Shadow turned. Her eyes were wet; she smiled at him wanley. "I'll be she loved you.