There are so many men, all endlessly attempting to sweep me off my feet. And there is one of you, trying just the opposite. Making sure my feet are firm beneath me, lest I fall.

I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.

His voice is like a thunderstorm, and his hands know every secret hidden deep beneath the cool, dark earth.

I am sorry to tell you this thing. Youu are a good man, and a pretty thing. But still, you are only a man. All you have to offer the world is your anger.

There is a great difference between a gift given freely, and one that's meant to tie you to a man.

The wild women in his lap,' my father enthused, 'laying their breasts on his head.'There was a moment of stunned silence. Then my mother spoke slowly, with an edge to her voice. 'I think you mean "wild beasts laying their heads in his lap".''Do I?

I believe it, Chronicler found himself thinking. Before it was just a story, but now I can believe it. This is the face of a man who has killed an angel.

Over the last month I had pulled a woman from a blazing inferno. I had called fire and lighting down on assassins and escaped to safety. I had even killed something that could have been either a dragon or a demon, depending on your point of view. But there in that room was the first time I actually felt like any sort of hero. If you are looking for a reason for the man I would eventually become, if you are looking for a beginning, look there.

Anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.