No, no, no, so not getting the point of fear. Because fear wasn't about what made sense. Fear was about possibilities. Not things that happened. Things that might.

Say it. But..." "But what?" he asked. She whispered it, sounding too vulnerable. "But only if its the truth, Caine. Only. If." "I love you," he said.

A man without pleasure is a man without any idea what life is about

So many things I'm not, and so few things I am.

Does he have a nickname?' Diana went on remorselessly. 'I mean, 'gaiphage' is so long. Can we call him phage? Or maybe just 'G'?

The bringer of fear was afraid.

Beautiful songs could sometimes take a person out of themselves and carry them away to a place of magic. But when Jill sang, it was not about the song, really. She could sing the phone book. She could sing a shopping list. Whatever she sang, whatever the words or the tune, it was so beautiful, so achingly lovely, that no one could listen and be untouched.