They'd never been lovers, of course, not in the physical sense. But they'd been lovers as most of us manage, loving through expressions and gestures and the palm set softly upon the bruise at the nece...
La gente que dice ser malvada no suele ser peor que el resto de nosotros -suspiró-. Pero la gente que dice ser buena, o mejor que los demás en algún aspecto, esa gente sí que es peligrosa.
What’s missing from the literature of our species are the stories of the peasants. The filthy illiterate. Those with no firm address, no surname. No one to impress, nothing to lose. But the poor tell...
He had no other plans for the rest of his life. He followed her.
Staring at a world too horrible to comprehend, believing -- by dint of ignorance and innocence -- that beneath this unbearable contract of guilt and blame there is always an older contract that may bi...
Don't wish,said Rain, don't start. Wishing only...
You always said I could see the present, said Candle, when she could speak. But I can see nothing about her—my own daughter. Liir smoothed his hand over her silky flank. Maybe that’s not so surprising...
Evil is an act, not an appetite. How many haven't wanted to slash the throat of some boor across the dining room table? Present company excepted of course. Everyone has the appetite. If you give in to...
Whispering can disguise the shape of syllables, but not of mood.
The human mind-we have come to observe-tricks out distinctions in principles of oposition. A man more foul will likely be less benign. A woman with a greedy belly may also be mean with her widow's mig...
Why should I keep myself so safe? he asked her, but he was almost asking himself. What is there in my life worth preserving? With a good wife back there in the mountains, serviceable as an old spoon,...
How many times in a life, he thought, will I lie down in a darkness whose character I cannot imagine, to see what daybreak reveals of my new circumstances? Or is that every day of my life?
Being normal isn't that miserable.Try it for a thousand years in a row, and you'll be grateful for a little zaniness.
What is strange is that we may remember what we have done, but not always why we did it.
To look into the mirror is to see the future, in blood and rubies.
Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.
And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no after, in the ever after of a Witch there is no happily; in the story of a Witch, there is no afterword. Of that part that is beyond the life stor...
Of course. You get everything from books.
But this was fancy; she was succumbing to fancy in a way she hadn't done before.
Perhaps family itself, like beauty, is temporary, and no discredit need attach to impermanence.