The heart has its own laws... and the truth is... the truth is that you are the law of mine.

... everyone knew that all islands were worlds unto themselves, that to come to an island was to come to another world.

You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.

We worship…the powers that speak to our souls, if it seems they do. We do so knowing there is more to the world, and the half-world, and perhaps worlds beyond, than we can grasp. We always knew that. We can’t even stop children from dying, how would we presume to understand the truth of things? Behind things? Does the presence of one power deny another? [p. 176]

But if you couldn't do everything, did that mean you did nothing?

Fantasy is, at its best, the purest access to storytelling that we have. It universalizes a tale, it evokes wonder and timeless narrative power, it touches upon inner journeys, it illuminates our collective and individual pasts, throws a focus beam on the present day, and presages the dangers and promises of the future.

As many have noted, the peril for authors is that our work space is too easily our play space.