Tanith Lee

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

It was, therefore, the sort of loveliness which is not perfect, but draws its charm from a measure of imbalance, which can accommodate flaws and make little of them, for a while at least.

Having failed, do you accept failure, saying only: Well, it is so. I will turn to other things? When night comes, do you accept the blackness of it, saying only: Well, it is so. I will turn and wait for morning? Or do you go on striving to light a candle against that dark however often the wind blows out the flame, however often the night returns?

“Like most loners,” said Moddik, “you carry the seeds of violent authority. Loners need to be bossy. They quickly learn it’s the only method they have of shoving people off their backs.”

It was as easy to be alone with six kin as it is to be alone by yourself, and maybe easier.

What Is, is, what Was, was, but what is To Be, may be otherwise.

Who knew? If the illusion is quite perfect, who is to say it is not real?

The irony of her story is merely that her love became, in the end, her motive rather than her goal, the doorway rather than the house.

“All my life,” I said, “knowledge has come to me for which I was not ready.”

“When will they fight?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. Daybreak. It is man’s work.”

I laughed. “I too have fought and killed, Kotta. It is the work of fools, not men.”

It’s legend now, but legend is the smoke from the fire, and the wood that the fire consumes is the substance.

A man hunted only for food or clothing or in self-defense. It was another mark of the effete and the sadistic to take life as a sport.