Do you care for me at all? Or do you only need me? — Patricia A. McKillip

“You fought for your freedom and won a different kind of prison. I will fight for mine—”

“You can’t fight me,” Tearle reminded him harshly.

“I know.” In the placid light, his face looked chilled and very weary. “But I can die.”

I could not find my way back in dreams, I knew then. They were memory and desire, terror and hope; they told me only what I already knew.

She lies like the moon lies, a different face every night, all but one of them false, and the one true face as barren and hard as stone. Why do you believe her?