Do you have a little white dress? I've had this deep-seated nurse fantasy about you, Murphy.

You're dead, son. Cheer is contraindicated.

I believe that there's a cloud for every silver lining,' I said.

There is no truer gauge of a man's character than the way in which he employs his strength, his power.

I didn't want to believe that killing was deep inside of me. I didn't want to think about the part of me that took a dark joy in gathering all the power it could and using it as I saw fit, everything else be damned. There was power to be had in hatred, too, in anger and in lust, in selfishness and in pride. And I knew that there was some dark corner of me that would enjoy using magic for killing—and then long for more. That was black magic, and it was easy to use. Easy and fun. Like Legos.

Life is precious, fragile, fleeting - and Murphy's life was one of my favorites.

Rain was coming down in sheets. I could hear it, on the concrete outside and on the old building above me. It creaked and swayed in the spring thunderstorm and the wind, timbers gently flexing, wise enough with age to give a little, rather than put up stubborn resistance until they broke. I could probably stand to learn something from that.