I ask you, is it the fig tree's fault that it's not the season for figs? What kind of thing is that to do to an innocent tree, wither it instantly?

It is simple and brutal: a person can get used to anything, even to killing.

Quickly you make rash decisions. You dismiss your last allies: hope and trust. There, you've defeated yourself. Fear, which is but an impression, has triumphed over you.

Words are cold, muddy toads trying to understand sprites dancing in a field-but they're all we have.

Life on a lifeboat isn't much of a life.

If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.

It was as unbelievable as the moon catching fire.