The tent in which she first met him had smelled of blood, of the death she did not understand, and still she had thought of it all as a game. She had promised him the world. His flesh in the flesh of his enemies. And much too late had she realized what he had sown in her. Love. Worst of all poisons.
Cornelia FunkeFire and water," he said, "don't really mix. You could say they're incompatible. But when they do love each other, they love passionately.
Cornelia FunkeThe spoken word is nothing. It hardly lives longer than an insect! Only the written word is eternal. - Balbulus
Cornelia Funke