I am always trying to put myself inside: Every dress I do, I think, 'If I were a woman, would I wear it?'
I want to chase the butterflies.
The question then is, how much are you willing to give?" And I answered, "Anything. " A breath later, Zane echoed my response with, "Everything.
Breath belongs to Mehay. Ecl has no use for it.
Anhamirak, abandon and freedom.
A story isn't a charcoal sketch, where every stroke lies on the surface to be seen. It's an oil painting, filled with layers that the author must uncover so carefully to show its beauty.
You speak of giving up my dreams. Have you ever, since Maeve's coven split, had a dream? Have you ever had anything worth dying for?
The simplified life is a sanctified life, Much more calm, much less strife. Oh, what wondrous truths are unveiled- Projects succeed which had previously failed. Oh, how beautiful life can be, Beautiful simplicity.
I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece.
A pure style in writing results from the rejection of everything superfluous.
But be that as it may, I think it is more respectful to you that I should speak to you upon and do my best to interest you in the subject which has occupied me, and in which I am myself most interested.