It may merely be apocryphal that when the Wizard saw the glass bottle he gasped, and clutched his heart. The story is told in so many ways, depending on who is doing the telling, and what needs to be heard at the time. It is a matter of history, however, that shortly thereafter, the Wizard absconded from the Palace. He left in the way he had first arrived-- a hot-air balloon-- just a few hours before seditious ministers were to lead a Palace revolt and to hold an execution without trial.

Waking up was a daily cruelty, an affront, and she avoided it by not sleeping.

It's the endlessly thinking about yourself that causes such heart shame.

The momentum of the mind can be vexingly, involuntarily capricious.

Forget us, forget us all, it makes no difference now, but don't forget we loved it when we were alive.

Science, my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesn't rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old. In the hands of someone truly skilled,...it is Art.

The truth isn't a thing of fact or reason. It is simply what everyone agrees on.