What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?

Blood is a strange color. It's darker than you expect it to be.

Which means that in order to defeat her, I have to think of a way to defeat myself. And how can I be a better fighter than myself, if she knows the same strategies I know, and is exactly as resourceful and clever as I am?

Becoming fearless isn't the point. That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it.

It happened. It was awful. You aren't perfect. That's all there is. Don't confuse your grief with guilt.

That is death - shifting from "is" to "was.

What irritates me most about him is his natural goodness, his inborn selflessness.