I don't understand your book. Isn't every book a book of words?

Alone with Giddon again, Bitterblue considered him, rather liking the mud streaks on his face. He looked like a handsome sunken rowboat.

Are you determined to leave me in this world to live without my heart?

You won't even take your bow? Are you planning to throttle a moose with your bare hands, then?" "I've a knife in my boot," she said, and then wondered, for a moment, if she could throttle a moose with her bare hands.

Your brothers are the foolish ones for not seeing the strength in beautiful things.

His last thought was that it hadn't been stupidity that had allowed his son to enchant him so easily with words. It had been love.

He leaned heavily on the desk now, as if danger had strengthened him before and its lack now made him weak.