- and you are truly human now. You can love, and fear, and forbid things to be what they are, and overact.

The magician was studying her face with his green eyes. "Your face is wet," he said worriedly. "I hope that's spray. If you've become human enough to cry, then no magic in the world — oh, it must be spray. Come with me. It had better be spray.

No," he repeated, and this time the word tolled in another voice, a king's voice... whose grief was not for what he did not have, but for what he could not give.

He is a great enough magician to tap our most common nightmares, daydreams and twilight fancies, but he never invented them either: he found them a place to live, a green alternative to each day's madness here in a poisoned world. We are raised to honor all the wrong explorers and discoverers - thieves planting flags, murderers carrying crosses. Let us at last praise the colonizers of dreams.

Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.

Ravens bring things to people. We're like that. It's our nature. We don't like it.

She said, "I will go no farther." "There is no choice. We can only go on." The magician said again. "We can only go on.