Nor is there any special wisdom in injuring oneself over and over. What is your loyalty to that pain? To abandon it will not lessen you
Never have I heard anything so unnerving as a hardened warrior praying to a god known for his merciless heart.
Name it as you will, claim it as you will, the world does not belong to men. Men belong to the world.
Men of passion and vision are often seen as mad.
Men cannot grieve as dogs do.
Long or short, if you worry about every step of a journey, you will divide it endlessly into pieces, any one of which may defeat you. Look only to the end.
It was a terrible division, to feel such need for someone, and yet to feel angry that the need existed.
It is my way, to speak directly. I do not mean to give offense by it. It has always seemed to me that honest words leave the least room for misunderstanding.
It is difficult to insult the man you don't speak to.
I tried to unbelieve that it had happened, to force time back by sheer effort of will.
I looked at her, wanting her with all the lust of my months alone and untouched. But I knew also that for that deeper hunger for companionship and understanding, she offered me no more solace than any...
I believed that by fixing it down in words, I could force sense from all that had happened, that effect would follow cause, and the reason for each event come clear to me. But then I returned one day,...
I am a minstrel. I know more about lying than you will ever discover. And minstrels know that sometimes lies are what a man needs most. In order to make a new truth of them.
How strange to be loved simply for who I was.
How different would our perception of reality be if... we discarded the mundane events that cannot coexist with our dreams?
How could the whole world not be as broken as I was?
Horns not grown, he swings his head in warning and still all take heed.
His heart had pounded with joy at the thought that he might catch her, might playfully hold her in his arms, for just a moment. They were children, I suddenly saw, children at play, only a handful of...
He reaches forward slowly, to lift the pen from my lax grip. Wearily I regard the faltering trail of ink it has tracked down my page. I have seen that shape before, I think, but it was not ink then. A...
Death fed life.