One step at a time, I can walk around the world. Watch me.

The real unforgivable acts are committed by calm men in beautiful green silk rooms, who deal death wholesale, by the shipload, without lust, without anger, or desire, or any redeeming emotion to excuse them but cold fear of some pretended future. But the crimes they hope to prevent in that future are imaginary. The ones they commit in the present - they are real.

If the truth doesn't save us, what does that say about us?

When you can’t do something truly useful, you tend to vent the pent up energy in something useless but available, like snappy dressing.

The good face pain. But the great? They embrace it.

If power was an illusion, wasn't weakness necessarily one also?

One corner of his mouth crooked up, then the quirk vanished in a thoughtful pursing of his lips. "He's bisexual, you know." He took a delicate sip of his wine. "Was bisexual," she corrected absently, looking fondly across the room. "Now he's monogamous." Vordarian choked, sputtering.