Beauty is at its most poignant when the cold hand of Death holds poised to wither it imminently.
And Kushiel sends no punishment that we are not fit to bear.
I know what you are. I've always known from the beginning, Kushiel's Chosen. It is folly, to make claim on one whom the gods have marked for their own. And unlike the others, I am no fool, to grasp at that which burns to the touch. What you have given..." she raised one hand, palm upward, the garnet seal dangling at her wrist, "... I hold in an open hand.
Are you a minor character in my tale, or am I a lesser figure in yours?
Truly, it is in loss that we learn a thing's true value.
It is not wise to meddle with D'Angelines in matters of love.
This is the secret that none dares tell who fights for a cause. Dying, we are all alike.
If you will not die for us, you cannot ask us to die for you.
It's funny how despair can soon become an old companion
Yes my lord, but questions are dangerous, for they have answers
Only insofar as you enjoy being sorry, my dear, which, while it is a considerable amount, occurs only after the fact, thus making it a singularly ineffective deterrent, yes?
Nothing spoils idle pleasure like too much awareness
For this too I learned, that a storyteller's tale may end, but history goes on always. These events, so distant in legend, play a part in shaping the very events we witness about us, each and every day.
Happiness is the highest form of wisdom.
If I had to fall from Cassiel's grace, at least I know it took a courtesan worthy of Kings to do it.
I would that I could have stopped time and preserved that day forever. It was a perfect day. There was the shadow of sorrow, yes. It would always be there. But that was the nature of life. The bright mirror and the dark, reflecting one another. And today there was so much brightness.
Wars come and go; politics endure.
What's the point of being a grown-up if you can't indulge the kid inside you every now and then?
Like a falling star, he descended on the Tarbh Cró, a Cassiline berserker, his sword biting and slashing like a silver snake.
But slight mistakes accumulate, and grow to gross errors if unchecked.
Even a stunted tree reaches for sunlight.
We pay for sins we do not remember, and seek to do a will we can scarce fathom. That is what it is, to be a god's chosen.
One must gauge one's trust carefully.
To recongnize that the treachery of one member of a house does not taint all born within it
Stupid to speak of blame when the wills of the immortals are involved.
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