The saddest day has gleams of light, The darkest wave hath bright foam beneath it. There twinkles o'er the cloudiest night, Some solitary star to cheer it.
You narrow hope when you define it.
. . . that was the first thing I had to learn about her, and maybe the hardest I've ever learned about anything - that she is her own, and what she gives me is of her choosing, and the more precious because of it. Sometimes a butterfly will come to sit in your open palm, but if you close your hand, one way or the other, it - and its choice to be there - are gone.
The question is always the answer, provided you want the answer badly enough.
I simply don't shine in company. Mostly I prefer to retreat with a book.
I always wanted to be a writer but everyone kept telling me it was impossible to break into the field or make money. I've proven them wrong on both counts.
What is merely a hypothesis to anyone else is an overwhelming temptation to a wizard.
Isn't it curious how one has only to open a book of verse to realise immediately that it was written by a very fine poet, or else that it was written by someone who is not a poet at all. In the case of the former, the lines, the images, though they are inherent in each other, leap up and give one this shock of delight. In the case of the latter, they lie flat on the page, never having lived.
Glacial pace is actually an incorrect concept. The glaciers move a lot faster and they react a lot faster than people imagine.
Hide your gold, your faith and the reason of you journey.
I catch fire and find the reserves of courage and assertiveness to speak up. When that happens I get quite carried away. My blood gets hot my brow wet I become unbearably and unconscionably sarcastic and bellicose I am girded for a total showdown.