It's the possibility that when you're dead you might still go on hurting that bothers me.
I am exceedingly angry for no good reason.
I have faced Death. I have been caught in the wild weed tangles of Her hair, seen the gleam of her jade eyes. I will go when it is time - no choice! - but now I want life.
The company you keep at death is, of all things, most dependent on chance.
There is a time, when passing through a light, that you walk in your own shadow.
You want to know about anybody? See what books they read, and how they've been read.