We are all fools blessed with the knowledge that certain events will come to pass no matter what path we take to get there. The wise ones follow their angels while they may.

They say that secrets live at the bottom of a wine bottle. Mama had made it there the night before, slow glass by slow glass, but she'd never spoken a word.

Everything in the world was about creativity: belief and creation. Storytelling was the essence of both.

Any other brushes with insanity you haven't thought to mention?

When sad she brings the thunderAnd her tears, they bring the rainWhen ill she feeds a poisonTo us all to fell her painHer smiles they bring the sunshineAnd the laughter and the windAnd the birds they go on singingAnd the world is whole again. "Smile, sweet Sunday," Wednesday whispered in her ear. "The birds need your love so they can lift their wings.

First time's a fluke; second time's a coincidence," said Velius."Third time's tradition," finished Erik.

No," Wednesday agreed. "You have tortured with silence. You let her grieve for a soul she did not lose, mourn a heart that should not have broken, and berate herself for betraying the man she loves...with the man she loves. It can't be 'true' love without the truth, Rumbold.

I think I liked you better when you were a raging idiot.

Her heart was an invalid convinced that it would not survive many more sunsets.