Knowledge does have a way of making you an outcast.

My sister has the heart of an artist with a hatchet and an eye patch. And I, we both now know, have a heart that is undeniably, irreparably different.

Mortals always want something more- they wish for money, but what they're really after is to be carefree. Power when what they really want is control. Beauty when they want love. Sometimes they know it, sometimes they don't

This is why Caliban was a punishment. I realize it now - it's a beautiful, perfect world of nothingness. No connection, no longing, no . . . love. A world we're trapped in until we're needed here, a world we're condemned to while everyone we might care about forgets us.

How could I possibly try to pretend the sunlight doesn’t exist, now that it’s taken so much of me?

Knowledge does have a way of making you an outcast.

I am confident, I am capable, and I will not wait to be rescued by a woodsman or a hunter.