She was owner and captive, both, of a bitterly divided heart.
There are no wrong turnings. Only paths we had not known we were meant to walk.
Why did becoming accustomed to something have to render its pleasures stale.
The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.
Weariness, sometimes more than anything else, can bring an end to war.
After a while, you start to realize that you should write a book you would want to read. I try to write a book I would enjoy.