From some angles, up is toward the earth and down toward the sky, and everything – people, horses, cathedrals, dreams – is suspended over the ceaseless void, barely hanging on.

That’s why this is important: because it’s impossible.

Nothing was just one thing; there were worlds within worlds. Those of us who trod the line between were blessed and burdened with both.

O faithless ignoramus, denier of Heaven Sitting smugly upon a disbelieving bottom O blatant person who disregards the scriptures Standing confidently in a puddle of sin There shall be smiting with lightning And blood-soaked retribution And heads kicked about like footballs And much worse upon your wretched person When Golden Abaster returns with judgment for you And salvation in the form of flowers for the rest of us Rodya.

There is no pain – free path, sweet girl. Choosing is what makes like bearable.

It looked like our gods, to me – not literally, no the way they are depicted in statues, but the vibrant space between them, where Necessity is Chance and Chance flows into Necessity. The world is as it must be, and as it happens to be, and those are the same thing, connected and right, and you understand and love all of it, because you are all of it and all of it is you.

He smiled sadly, then placed his hand around mine so we were holding the book together. “I believe that – with everything I have,” he said, holding my gaze. He kissed the edge of the book because he could not kiss me.

Your credo goes further than you realized: walk on, yes, but don’t walk past people who need you. Uncurl yourself so you can see them and respond.

We try to do right, and we... we... they gang up on us, fear and pain and revenge and... and then we find we’ve done wrong.

Some sober part of my brain seemed to observe everything I did, clucking disdainfully, informing me that ought to be embarrassed, yet making no move.