Then I played the song that hides in the center of me. That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song, that it is sweet and bright, but it is not.

A troublesome question? Those tend to be the only whorthwhile kind.

I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.

This is the nature of love." Vashet said. "To attempt to describe it will drive a woman mad. This is what keeps poets scribbling endlessly away. If one could pin it to paper all complete, the others would lay down their pens. But it cannot be done.

Only priests and fools are fearless and I've never been on the best of terms with God.

It gets tiresome being spoken to as if you are a child, even if you happen to be one.

It's hard for me to take myself too seriously when I'm constantly experiencing firsthand what an incredible gimp I can be.