There are some as are what they are. And there are some as aren't what they seem to be. And there are some as only seem to be what they seem to be.

It's astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself into, if one works at it. And astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself out of, if one assumes that everything will, somehow or other, work out for the best.

We are small but we are many We are many we are small We were here before you rose We will be here when you fall

It’s part of growing up, I suppose…you always have to leave something behind you.

And he waited. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like a small forever.

So you used to know everything?" She wrinkled her nose. "Everybody did. I told you. It's nothing special, knowing how things work. And you really do have to give it all up if you want to play." "To play what?" "This," she said. She waved at the house and the sky and the impossible full moon and the skeins and the shawls and clusters of bright stars.

To be Despair. It is a portrait. Only close your eyes and feel.