It was, therefore, the sort of loveliness which is not perfect, but draws its charm from a measure of… — Tanith Lee

Somewhere in me was a rod of steel to which I clung. I’d had a vision, as good as any vision given to any poet, sage, or prophet in the past. I wasn’t elated, I wasn’t confident even, but somehow, I knew, and with the end of doubt had come the death of despair.

I see you laugh, and rightly so. What is this silly old fool rambling on about? Good for you. Never respect years, only deeds.

“Well now,” he said, “was I as good as you were when you were me?”