When the hearthfire turns to blue, what to do? what to do? run outside, run and hide when his eyes are black as crow? where to go? where to go? near and far. Here they are. see a man without a face? move like ghosts from place to place. whats their plan? whats their plan? Chandrian. Chandrian

Are you hurt?" "Absolutely," I said. "Especially in my everywhere.

A tree doesn't make a thunderstorm, but any fool knows where lightning's going to strike.

You know, I could have carried you.

After a certain point is reached the numbers cease to matter, and all that remains is the faceless mass of a crowd.

I was nervous about writing Slow Regard.

Ambrose, your presence is the horseshit frosting on the horseshit cake that is the admissions interview process.