Death cannot be struggled against, brother. It ever arrives, defiant of every hiding place, of every frantic attempt to escape. Death is every mortal's shadow, his true shadow, and time is its servant, spinning that shadow slowly round, until what stretched behind one now stretches before him.

The stars, they are as the sun. Each star. Every star. And those spheres- they are worlds, realms, each one different yet the same.

The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins with love and ends with grief.

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

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

When you've burned the bridges behind you, don't go starting a fire on the one in front of you.

I have to feel what I'm writing, right down to the core.