The Goddess does not shower her gifts on those who reject them.

What you see is from outside yourself, and may come, or not, but is beyond your control. But your fear is yours, and yours alone, like your voice, or your fingers, or your memory, and therefore yours to control. If you feel powerless over your fear, you have not yet admitted that it is yours, to do with as you will.

Rome was mud and smoky skies; the rank smell of the Tiber and the exotically spiced cooking fires of a hundred different nationalities. Rome was white marble and gilding and heady perfumes; the blare of trumpets and the shrieking of market-women and the eternal, sub-aural hum of more people, speaking more languages than Gaius had ever imagined existed, crammed together on seven hills whose contours had long ago disappeared beneath this encrustation if humanity. Rome was the pulsing heart of the world.

The Goddess does not shower her gifts on those who reject them.

Morgaine laughed and mocked, but when it was a real trouble, no one could be kinder.

The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination.

Well, so it must be, for as man saw reality, so it became.