One keeps searching for ease, she did not say, and not finding it, till the memories of no-pain seem only like daydreams.

She fell asleep, leaning on his chest, and he edged her a little off a particularly painful bruise, leaned his head back against the tree he had propped them up against, and closed his own eyes.

the bus timetable sites are all run by an inbred cabal of malicious gnomes. Who don’t speak English. And who don’t count very well either. Or tell time. And they certainly can’t read maps.

The story is always better than your ability to write it.

If you wish, I shall go personally to your City and knock together the heads of Perlith and Galooney.

Can't all beasts be tamed?

Betrayal would be a different sort of sick.