I do not want to choose which one of you I must love or hate. Here, I am free to do neither. I want no part of your bitterness.

What?" It was a good word. Like a rock in a river, sticking up to let you land on it, so you could make your way across the flow.

Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.

Imagination is best fed by reality, an odd diet for something nonexistent there are few details of daily life and its broad range of emotional context that can't be transformed into food for the imagination.

Wisdom never learned silence, and it is most annoying when least wanted.

What do you think love is - a thing to startle from the heart like a bird at every shout or blow? You can fly from me, high as you choose into your darkness, but you will see me always beneath you, no matter how far away, with my face turned to you. My heart is in your heart. I gave it to you with my name that night and you are its guardian, to treasure it, or let it whither and die. I do not understand you. I am angry with you. I am hurt and helpless, but nothing will fill the ache of the hollowness in me where your name would echo if I lost you.

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