Elphaba looked like something between an animal and an Animal, like something more than life but not quite Life.

She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she.

Before catechisms can instill a proper humility, small children know the truth that their own existence has caused the world to bloom into being.

Light will blind us in time, but what we learn in the dark can see us through.

But his face had that hollow look, as if there was something gone... you know that look. The inward focus. Distantly attentive to the home you're missing, or the someone you're missing. That look that a bird has when it turns it dry reptilian eye on you. That look that doesn't see you because the mind is filled up with someone it would rather see.

His avenging angel had come to call him home. A suicide was waiting for him back in his own world, and by now he ought to have learned enough to get through it successfully.

Evil is an act, not an appetite. How many haven't wanted to slash the throat of some boor across the dining room table? Present company excepted of course. Everyone has the appetite. If you give in to it, it, that act is evil. The appetite is normal.