This was how you wound up in the Inquisition. When you stopped being able to see any difference between Light Ones and Dark Ones. When for you, people weren't even a flock of sheep, but just a handful of spiders in a glass jar. When you stopped believing in the future, and all you wanted to do was preserve the status quo. For yourself. For those few individuals who were still dear to you.

Experience is primarily the ability to restrain our fleeting impulses.

Ill-considered but well-intentioned actions do more good that actions that are well-considered but cruel.

Love was something different. Love was pure delight, a fountain of emotions, sensual delights, and enjoying spending time together.

That's how myths are born. Out of our carelessness, out of our tattered nerves, out of jokes that go wrong and flashy gestures.

One day you will hear the sound of time rustling as it slips through your fingers like sand. Remember me then. I wish you luck.

At home the very walls lend you strength.