The wind makes you ache is some place that is deeper than your bones. It may be that it touches something old in the human soul, a chord of race memory that says Migrate or die - migrate or die.

Calling it a simple schoolgirl crush was like saying a Rolls-Royce was a vehicle with four wheels, something like a hay-wagon. She did not giggle wildly and blush when she saw him, nor did she chalk his name on trees or write it on the walls of the Kissing Bridge. She simply lived with his face in her heart all the time, a kind of sweet, hurtful ache. She would have died for him.

The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there... and still on your feet.

there's no harm in hoping for the best as long as you're prepared for the worst.

The King is in his Tower, eating bread and honey. The Breakers in the basement, making all the money.

They had discovered one could grow as hungry for light as for food.

There are a great many ways to commit suicide you know.