My mama used to say, 'Are you sad? Then just wait a minute.

You saw my leg?" "How can a man help what he sees?" he said. "And, if I could add, you possess a very fine leg.

... and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.

Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be listening to that voice that first told her the story, a mother, sister, or aunt. Then her voice, like her singing, cut through the crickets and crackling fire.

I was sorry to lose it, and if you make me another one, I promise not to get taken captive by bandits and have to use it to save my life.

Sometimes my fancy gets to floating inside me, threatening to carry me away like a leaf on a wind. Better to be a stone.

Uge, save me from the sauce of their loveyness-raso Forest Born