Inside us lies every possibility that is available to a sentient being. Every darkness, every light. It is the choices we make that decide who or what we will be.

Without mysteries, life would be very dull indeed. What would be left to strive for if everything were known?

We're so quick to cut away pieces of ourselves to suit a particular relationship, a job, a circle of friends, incessantly editing who we are until we fit in.

I suppose the other thing too many forget is that we were all stories once, each and every one of us. And we remain stories. But too often we allow those stories to grow banal, or cruel or unconnected to each other.We allow the stories to continue, but they no longer have a heart. They no longer sustain us.

I want to touch the heart of the world and make it smile.

We call them faerie. We don't believe in them. Our loss.

Don't forget - no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.