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It was true, it was all true. But none of it was the truth.

We truly to think that the world doth even now be old; and this to have seemed a true thing unto every age that ever did live.

Music trains the mind, like mathematics, or logic, to precision of mind.

There are no wrong turnings. Only paths we had not known we were meant to walk.

Let me tell you, I have seen men who are trying to find themselves, and I have seen men who are trying to lose themselves, but rare indeed is the man who knows exactly who he is and where he is at.

Besides, for poets it wasn’t lying, it was art.

Blood is blood, you know? There’s too much shared history and too many cross-connecting bonds to ever totally extract yourself from that half-smothering, half-supporting, muddled net called family.

A reminder of what it was to be mortal and so doomed to tread one road only and that one only once...We can never truly know the path we have not walked.

Women fell into that category of fantasies and dreams that worked well when unfulfilled but presented all kinds of problems when brought out into the real world of trial and failure.

Chaos was a far subtler force than most people realised. It would be so easy to sense if it threw off thunderbolts or sent barely sensed thrummings through the fabric of reality, but it was nothing more than the possible made probable. It did not break or bend any laws of nature or tip the balance of the universe.

Home was a dream she’d had yesterday. A place where children used to play. Among towers near the mountains, by a river, on curving sweeps of white or golden sand beside a palace at the edge of the sea.

He didn’t think he would understand the strangeness of life if he lived to be a hundred years old.