Pain for the old was no longer a surprise.

War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.

The truth may often be carried about by those who themselves remain all unaware of it. They bear that which has weight and substance and yet for them has no name whereby it may be evoked or called forth. They go about ignorant of the true nature of their condition, such are the wiles of truth and such its stratagems.

There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.

You go back home and everything you wished was different is still the same and everything you wished was the same is different.

Remember her hair in the morning before it was pinned, black, rampant, savage with loveliness. As if she slept in perpetual storm.

Your heart's desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery.