You look like a winter night", he had told her when he had given it to her. "I could sleep inside the cold of you".

In his own country, Death can be kind.

That stirring which had fluttered in her on first glimpsing the sea—that stirring landlocked children know so well—moved in her now, with the golden stars over head, and the green fireflies glinting on the wooded shore. She carefully unfolded the stirring that she had so tightly packed away. It billowed out like a sail, and she laughed, despite herself, despite hunger and hard things ahead.

It appeals to the higher nature of the self to put aside food which once lived - I do not consider myself food, why should I ask all other creatures to consider themselves so?

I have tried to write stories that go into the underworld of myth and bring out life and fire — where the old world looked at a woman alone and immortal and said: she must long to die, I have tried to say: look at her live!

Remember this when you are queen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I moved the earth and the water for you.

Your past's a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in xbox where it can't hurt anyone.