It's a cruel world, don't you think?

Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper.

From the tower battlements, Dustfinger looked down on a lake as black as night, where the reflection of the castle swam in a sea of stars. The wind passing over his unscarred face was cold from the snow of the surrounding mountains, and Dustfinger relished life as if he were tasting it for the first time. The longing it brought, and the desire. All the bitterness, all the sweetness, even if it was only for a while, never for more than a while, everything gained and lost, lost and found again.

Women were different, no doubt about it. Men broke so much more quickly. Grief didn't break women. Instead it wore them down, it hollowed them out very slowly.

The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.

When you open a book it's like going to the theater first you see the curtain then it is pulled aside and the show begins.

The truth's not pretty of course. No one likes to look it in the face.