It's only a world, after all, and they're just sand grains in the desert, worlds.

Everything here is so weak, little girl. Everything breaks so easily. They want such simple things.

I am the most unhappy soul alive." "I'd heard it said that fairies have no souls." "Then do I ache, and bleed, and smart, elsewhere; still, call it soul for it is solely mine.

I've never known anyone who was what he or she seemed; or at least, was only what he or she seemed. People carry worlds within them.

If I come back, it will be a place, but it won't be a home any longer.

"Some things may change," said Wednesday, abruptly. "People, however... People stay the same."

Religions are, by definition, metaphors, after all: God is a dream, a hope, a woman, an ironist, a father, a city, a house of many rooms, a watchmaker who left his prize chronometer in the desert, someone who loves you - even, perhaps, against all evidence, a celestial being whose only interest is to make sure your football team, army, business, or marriage thrives, prospers, and triumphs over all opposition.