It is a rose planted in your heart, and as it's thorns tear you, so does it thrive and flower

What makes a story a story is that something changes. Internal, external, small or large, trivial or of earth-shattering importance. Doesn't matter.

I catch a flash of red-gold beneath the surface of the water, and realize that there are koi in the pond, massive, serene, and I wonder: are they dreams of fish, or fish who dream?

It is a rose planted in your heart, and as it's thorns tear you, so does it thrive and flower

I gave up on cussing - I'd run out of words filthy enough - and just started praying.

The dead person is not truly dead until the last person who rememebers them dies.

The obligation d'âme meant that his only allegiance was to Felix, making them a separate kingdom of two, with Felix as king and Mildmay as ministers, army, and populace all combined in one. A stormy little kingdom, I thought, with periodic flare-ups of civil war and a magnificently unstable government. And I was glad I wasn’t a citizen of it.