His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.
When you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him.
The best calumnies are spiced with truth.
The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. "It hurts, boy," he said softly. "Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.
Give a thing a name and it will somehow come to be.
Even the sky was grey. Grey and grey and greyer. The whole world grey, everywhere you look, everything grey except the eyes of the bride. The eyes of the bride were brown. Big and brown and full of fear.