Fantasy is uni-age. You can start it in the creche, and it follows you to death.

They may be called the Palace Guard, the City Guard, or the Patrol. Whatever the name, their purpose in any work of heroic fantasy is identical: it is, round about Chapter Three (or ten minutes into the film) to rush into the room, attack the hero one at a time, and be slaughtered. No one ever asks them if they want to. This book is dedicated to those fine men.

I dare say that quite a few people have contemplated death for reasons that much later seemed to them to be quite minor.

Strength enough to build a home, Time enough to hold a child, Love enough to break a heart

She'd become a governess. It was one of the few jobs a known lady could do. And she'd taken to it well. She'd sworn that if she did indeed ever find herself dancing on rooftops with chimney sweeps she'd beat herself to death with her own umbrella.

No one thinks that young adults read hooks for YOUNG ADULTS, books for young adults are read by kids.

I reckon that Stonehege was build by the contemporary equivalent of Microsoft, whereas Avebury was definitely an Apple circle.