Time is a wind that keeps blowing in my face and mumbling words that don't make sense.

Razo was sorely tempted to assert that all was true and he'd lost his horns and tail in a tragic childhood accident

Being a writer is a good, good thing.

Saying my story makes me want to change it, make it sound pretty the way I do with the stories I tell the workers. I'd like it to have a beginning as grand as a ball and an ending in a whisper, like a mother tucking in a child for sleep.

What? Don't British women know how to use their knees?

Enna leaned back her head and laughed at the sky. 'Of course he wasn't! Who could kill Razo?

Gerti didn’t ask for help.” Miri swallowed and tried to calm her quavering voice. “It was my fault.” “So it was. Now you all have learned that those who speak out of turn choose punishment for themselves and anyone they speak to.” “So if I speak to you, Tutor Olana, will you get the lashes?