The man was hit in one eye by a stone, and that eye turned inward so that it looked into his mind, and he died of what he saw there

All I wanted, even when I hated you most, was some poor, barren, parched excuse to love you. But you only gave me riddles.

Love is an obsolete emotion, ranking in usefulness somewhere between earwigs and toe mold.

Men see what they are most afraid of.

But you must stop playing among his ghosts -- it's stupid and dangerous and completely pointless. He's trying to lay them to rest here, not stir them up, and you seem eager to drag out all the sad old bones of his history and make them dance again. It's not nice, and it's not fair.

That's the beginning of magic. Let your imagination run and follow it.

Here in Raine, I can walk with the sunlight on my face. I can speak to anyone who speaks to me. I can learn my daughter's language. I can be called the name I was given when I was born. Here I am no longer my own secret. Will you let me stay?