That which yields is not always weak.

It's funny, how one can look back on a sorrow one thought one might well die of at the time, and know that one had not yet reckoned the tenth part of true grief.

Pain redeems all. It is the awareness of life, a reminder of death.

And for a price, I will pretend absolutely nothing.

Wars come and go; politics endure.

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.

For every victory there is a price.