I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.

When one consorts with assassins, one must expect to dance along the edge of a knife once or twice.

Truly, we are the gods' own children, forged in the fire of our tortured pasts, but also blessed with unimaginable gifts.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.

It is a good thing I no longer have a heart, because if I did, it would surely break.

We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.