To my surprise, Joscelin rose. ‘Phedre-’ He began, then halted. Sitting below him, I watched him smile to himself, quiet and private. ‘Phedre yields with a willow’s grace,’ he said softly. ‘And endures with the strength of mountains. Without her, life would be calm; and yet lack all meaning.

That which yields is not always weak.

Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland

Grief heals ... unshed tears fester like a canker in the soul.

There is no fulfillment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire

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?

And having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade.