I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.

There are patterns which emerge in one's life, circling and returning anew, an endless variation of a theme

That was the problem ... with trusting to the written word ... We were human, mortal and fallible. We forgot, we made errors, argued ambiguities, and twisted meanings to suit our own ends. And in doing so, mayhap we reshaped the gods themselves.

Only insofar as you enjoy being sorry, my dear, which, while it is a considerable amount, occurs only after the fact, thus making it a singularly ineffective deterrent, yes?

The harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played.

Night breeds its own sort of anticipation.

And Kushiel sends no punishment that we are not fit to bear.