A quaint conceit, don't you think?

Time doesn't. All that Time does is make it more distant, put more space between you and what happened. It doesn't heal anything. I don't know how or what does the healing, but it isn't Time.

How DARE the villainous cads be as clever as the heroes.

The freedom to swing your fist ends at my nose.

The great love is gone. There are still little loves - friend to friend, brother to sister, student to teacher. Will you deny yourself comfort at the hearthfire of a cottage because you may no longer sit by the fireplace of a palace? Will you deny yourself to those who reach out to you in hopes of warming themselves at your hearthfire?

Caught between glass and wood, that which breaks and that which bends, that which sings and that which survive. So our lives go.

Magic, like technology, is a tool.