A little truth seasons a lie like salt.

True friendship must be akin to romance, I think. only without all the anguish and anxiety.

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.

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

Surely if we knew what bitterness fate held in store, we would shrink back in fear and let the cup of life pass us by untasted.

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.

When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity upon me