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?

It makes sense for people who are good at fighting to go out and do it-because if they're good at it, that means the fewest number of other people die.

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

Truth and trust are the means by which civilization holds off barbarism.

Three things never trust in- The maiden sworn as pure, The vows a king has given, And an ambush that is sure.

Doctor MacKenzie says "Sometimes I think the Victorians had the right idea. When you lost a family member back then you were suppose to be in full mourning, dress in nothing but black, for a whole year. Then you went into something they called 'half mourning' for another full year, adn during those two years, you were pretty much expected to have emotional breakdowns, you could do it whenever you felt you needed to, and everybody would support you. Now?, A month after a tragedy, maybe two, and you're expected to be all better-or down pills so you can pretend you are.

A quaint conceit, don't you think?