We are the total of our longings.

Weariness, sometimes more than anything else, can bring an end to war.

When I was 18 years old, in a more innocent time, my first backpacking trip through Europe, I sneaked into the Temple of Saturn in the Roman Forum after nightfall and spent several hours in there avoiding the guards patrolling.

One man sees a riselka: his life forks there.  Two men see a riselka: one of them shall die.  Three men see a riselka: one is blessed, one forks, one shall die. One woman sees a riselka: her path comes clear to her.  Two women see a riselka: one of them shall bear a child.  Three women see a riselka: one is blessed, one is clear, one shall bear a child.

By things so achingly small are lives measured and marred.

Men made wagers with their judgment, their allegiances, their resources.

I have always argued, in a good novel, interesting things happen to interesting people.