Ben Adaephon Delat," Pearl said plaintively, "see the last who comes. You send me to my death." "I know," Quick Ben whispered. "Flee, then. I will hold them enough to ensure your escape no more." Quick Ben sank down past the roof. Before he passed from sight Pearl spoke again. "Ben Adaephon Delat, do you pity me?" "Yes" he replied softly, then pivoted and dropped down into darkness.

I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.

Name none of the fallen, for they stand in our place, and stand there still in each moment of our lives. Let my death hold no glory, and let me die forgotten and unknown. Let it not be said that I was one among the dead to accuse the living.

The heart of wisdom is tolerance.

Chaos needs no allies, for it dwells like a poison in every one of us.

The idea that an author can extricate her or his own ongoing life experience from the tale being written is a conceit of very little worth.

And over it all, the butterflies swarmed, like a million yellow-pettalled flowers dancing on swirling winds.