My grandmother used to say that twisting paths always cross again," he told her. "And whose paths are more twisted than ours?

How easy is murder when one calls it by a different name? How much easier is it for the conscience to condone "reaping" than "killing"-and when one knows that death isn't the end, does it stop the killing hand for fear of retribution, or does it simply make it easier to kill, because, if life continues, how can murder be murder at all?

Hope can be bruised and battered. It can be forced underground and even rendered unconscious, but hope cannot be killed.

When you truly start to care about someone you become vulnerable to all sorts of things.

You see, a conflict always begins with an issue - a difference of opinion, an argument. But by the time it turns into a war, the issue doesn't matter anymore, because now it's about one thing and one thing only: how much each side hates the other.

Crawley reached into the pocket of his fancy robe - a dinner jacket, I think it's called. The kind of thing Professer Plum would wear before killing Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the candlestick.

Stupid dreams. Even the good ones are bad, because they remind you how poorly reality measures up.