There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.

There is only one thing I fear now-love. For I have seen it and I have felt it and I know that it is love, not death, that undoes us.

Namaste. It was a Nepalese greeting. It meant: The light within me bows to the light within you.

For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.

Sometimes, when you catch someone unaware at just the right time and in just the right light, you can catch sight of what they will be.

Every heart is made of stories.

Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.