If you were a woman, all I'd have to say is 'Colin Firth in a wet shirt' and you'd say 'Ah.

You can be who you will,” he repeated. His voice softened. “And if you will have me, I will be the one beside you.

But in a country where you hang your dead up on walls and pride whether or not a man bears a javelin more than his character, how am I to persuade you out of a war? It would be suicide for Kildenree to war on Bayern and butchery for Bayern to attack Kildenree. If you don't believe me, then send me back. Or if you don't trust me to leave, I'll return to my little room on the west wall and tend your geese, and you can be sure that on my watch no thieves will touch my flock.

I cannot write to anyone outside myself--if I tried, it would be a horrible story, flat and lifeless. I write to myself. That's the only person I'm trying to please.

Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.

It was karma, it was kismet, it was magic. It doesn't matter how it happened, just that it did.

But the hoping, that's what really hurts.