What kind of freak is this kid who's giggling hysterically with the girls in the neighbouring beds, each with a crush on the other for being the same age when the rest of the world seems so old?

No," I say, looking up at Griggs. "It's actually because my heart belongs to someone else." And if I could bottle the look on his face, I'd keep it by my bedside for the rest of my life.

Don't let me outlive this woman. Don't let me exist one moment without her.

Just ask how I'm feeling, I want to say. Just ask and I may tell you. But no one does.

The gods do make playthings of us ... but it is we mortals who provide them with the tools.

But then Froi looked back to where his work lay unfinished and it made him sad because there had been something about the touch of earth in his hands that made him feel worthwhile.

In the end, the sum of my vices is all me.