If you show this devious little liar one atom's worth of compassion I will have you shot.

Hope is treacherous, but how can you live without it?

Nothing like an arcane literary debate with your tyrannical master while you pass the time leading to your execution.

And I envied her that she had chosen her work herself and was doing what she wanted to do. I don't suppose I had any idea what I 'wanted' and so I was chosen, not choosing. There's glory and honor in being chosen. But not much room for free will.

I think that what I do is a form of pathetic fallacy, the literary trope in which nature is in sympathy with the mood of the story. I connect the physical setting and props in the story to the emotional state of the characters.

Fight with realistic hope, not to destroy all the world's wrong, but to renew its good.

We are a sensational team.