So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.
The beauty of the day is the only thing that doesn't fade in time. Day after day, such beauty revives itself.
When the dawn light is coursing through the slats in the shutters at last, making thin stripes on the floor, she, tossing, decides that for every human soul there must surely be a possible childhood worth living, but once it slips by, there isn’t a...
Immortality is a chancy thing; it cannot be promised or earned. Perhaps it cannot even be identified for what it is.
If magic was present, it moved under the skin of the world, beneath the ability of human eyes to catch sight of it.
What is strange is that we may remember what we have done, but not always why we did it.
