Mortimer's face twisted when the Piper pressed his knife against his ribs. Oh yes, he's obviously made the wrong enemies in this story, thought Orpheus. And the wrong friends. But that was high-minded heroes for you. Stupid.

The spoken word is nothing. It hardly lives longer than an insect! Only the written word is eternal. - Balbulus

Mo could paint pictures in the empty air with his voice alone.

She always did like tales of adventure-stories full of brightness and darkness. She could tell you the names of all King Arthur's knights, and she knew everything about Beowulf and Grendel, the ancient gods and the not-quite-so-ancient heroes. She liked pirate stories, too, but most of all she loved books that had at least a knight or a dragon or a fairy in them. She was always on the dragon's side by the way.

And I always read the English translation and always have conversations with my translator, for example about the names. I always have to approve it.

Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?

What's the matter princess? Do you know the end of your story?