Answers come and go, I've found. But the questions? Those remain forever.
Why is it that what we do know can save us, but what we don't know can kill us?
Stories help me. To live. To work. To find the meaning hidden in every dream, ever leaf, every drop of dew.
The leaf, still green, must someday fall such grief and joy to live at all.
You're saying that our souls and the stars and the wings of a butterfly are all somehow connected?
Hy gododin catann hue Hud a lledrith mal wyddan Gaunce ae bellawn wen cabri Varigal don Fincayra Dravia, dravia Fincayra (Talking trees and walking stones, Giants aare the island's bones. While this land our dance still knows, Varigal crowns Fincayra. Live long, live long Fincayra.