For it is said, you know, that a letter will always seek a reader; that sooner or later, like it or not, words have a way of finding the light, of making their secrets known.

It's a funny thing, character, the way it brands people as they age, rising from within to leave its scar.

In each man's heart there lies a hole. A dark abyss of need, the filling of which takes precedence over all else.

Always remember, with a strong enough will, even the weak can wield great power.

Hope, how she had grown to hate the word. It was an insideious seed planted inside a person's soul, surviving covertly on little tending, then flowering so spectacularly that none could help but cherish it.

To abandon a child, she had once said to someone, when she thought Cassandra couldn't hear, was an act so cold, so careless, it refused forgiveness.

We're all unique, just never in the ways we imagine.