Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love... It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see. But still, you know it’s there, down where you can’t see, kindling.

Someone's parents have been singing entirely the wrong sort of songs.

Fencing is more a sport than a martial art. It would be like basing your knowledge of roman phalanx warfare on NFL football.

You want to publish with a publisher because a publisher knows how to publish a book. And you don't. You really don't.

Only a fool worries over what he can’t control.

Metal rusts, music lasts forever.

It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.