Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same.

Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.

The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.

Anything that can be dreamed is true.

I've never been very good at leaving things behind. I tried, but I have always left fragments of myself there too, like seeds awaiting their chance to grow.

And so Nat stood up and joined the group, and followed, and watched, and awaited his chance as the light of Chaos lit the plain and gods and demons marched to war.

I think everybody has a secret life.