He is half of my soul, as the poets say.

I could feel his power reaching for my secrets. In the old days, I would have rushed forth with a brimming cup of answers, to give him all he wanted. But I was not the same as I had been. I owed him nothing. He would have of me only what I wanted to give.

This was how mortals found fame, I thought. Through practice and diligence, tending their skills like gardens until they glowed beneath the sun.

But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart? 

But endurance had always been my virtue, and I kept on

But endurance had always. been my virtue, and I kept on.

But endurance had always been my virtue, and I kept on.

I thought: I cannot bear this world a moment longer.Then, child, make another.

Well? What do you have to say to me? You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you.